


Captive Of Lies

by capriciouslouis



Series: IIMH Universe [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: I'm trying so hard to remember what went into this, M/M, SO, and some beating up, i don't think there's any graphic violence, self harm mention, there's a lot of inaccuracies though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:33:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 72,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capriciouslouis/pseuds/capriciouslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Another re-post from my tumblr, on request... I don't even remember half of what happened in this one wow.)</p>
<p>After months of separation, sneaking around, and breaking the law - something which, in a prison, is almost too ironic for belief - Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are FINALLY together, in every possible sense. Apart from Louis’ job, and community service which needs to be discharged, there is very little to keep them apart… especially in the evenings. But unfortunately, happiness comes with a price, and Harry didn’t just get released early out of luck. He had to do some pretty bad things to get out of prison, and he’s upset all the wrong people.</p>
<p>The imprisonment may be over, but the lies have just begun. And it might not be the last time that Harry and Louis see the inside of a cell…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was nothing like waking up in bed beside someone you cared about more than anything – even if you  _had_ been awoken by their loud snoring. When Louis opened his eyes to the soft sound of Harry snoring right in his ear, he just smiled fondly and curled up closer into his side. On some mornings, when he was tired, Louis would have grumpily poked him until he rolled over and stopped making the noises, but he was in a good mood that morning, and the sound brought him a weird sense of comfort.

“I love you, you idiot,” he whispered fondly.

Harry’s only response was a particularly loud snore that sounded like the kind of noise a pig might make, and Louis choked, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. He traced a few circles on Harry’s bare back, down his spine, spiralling across his ribs and forming intricate patterns on his stomach. He played join the dots with Harry’s ribs, leaving invisible lines and feeling his hand tingling wherever he touched the warm skin.

He’d been doing that for about five minutes when Harry caught his hand and held it, stopping him in his tracks. Louis jumped, shocked, and then felt a smile sprawl across his face.

“If you don’t mind,” Harry murmured sleepily, “I’m trying to sleep, and that’s incredibly distracting.”

His morning voice was low, tired and ridiculously sexy, and Louis couldn’t help but grin at him. “Oh, it just so happens that I  _do_ mind. Come here, you.” He reached for Harry’s hips, grabbed them, and hauled Harry towards him, kissing his neck lightly several times.

“ _Louuuu_ ,” Harry protested, eyes still closed, weakly trying to push him away. “I’m asleep!”

“Wake up, then, sleepyhead,” Louis teased, “because I’m not stopping for anyone. Or any _thing_.”

“Don’t do this to me.”

“You have to, Harry. I know it’s hard, but if you love me, you’d leave your bed for me. Which of us means more to you?” Louis slid a hand suggestively down Harry’s spine.

Groaning, Harry swatted him away, rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

“ _Charming_ ,” Louis muttered. “I’m getting breakfast. You want any?”

Harry made an indistinct noise into Louis’ pillow.

Tutting fondly, Louis slid out of bed and pattered barefoot into the kitchen, wincing at the feel of the cool tiles underneath his toes. Once he was in there, he started attempting to make a piece of toast without burning the kitchen down, although he met with limited success. The toaster itself didn’t catch fire, but the bread did, and when Harry came rushing through wearing only his boxers, with his hair standing on end, Louis was walloping a flaming piece of bread with a wet tea towel and crumbs were flying in every direction.

“Louis!” Harry shrieked, reaching for a glass of water and pouring it messily all over the bread, which extinguished with a hiss.

Louis gave him an injured look. “ _What?_ I was putting it out.”

“Yeah, of course you were. That’s why the tea towel is also on fire,” Harry said pointedly.

Yelping, Louis hurled the smoking towel into the sink and turned on the tap, water thundering down and knocking the flames out of existence.

“It’s official: you’re the world’s worst cook,” Harry announced dramatically. “How did you ever cope without me?”

“I don’t  _often_ set my breakfast on fire,” Louis retorted crossly.

“No, you usually just throw it all over the room.”

“That was one time – I  _tripped_!”

“Sure you did.” All of a sudden, Harry laughed, drew Louis closer and buried his face in his shoulder. “Let’s just agree that I’m the head chef, all right?”

“Somehow I think that’s an arrangement I can live with,” Louis agreed, leaning backwards so that he could give his weight to Harry with a smile.

They had been living together for almost three months, and things were still as perfect as they always had been – perhaps more so. It turned out that Harry hadn’t been released  _entirely_ without charge; he had seven hundred hours of community service to discharge, and so every weekday, while Louis headed off to Stonehaven, Harry put on an ugly luminous orange jacket with  **COMMUNITY SERVICE** stamped on the back, and cheerfully went to sweep the streets, gather up rubbish and paint odd corners of shops or benches here and there, with a group of loud, daft, funny guys in a similar situation to him. Being Harry Styles, and possessing the good old fashioned Styles family charm, Harry had befriended every single one of them, and more than once Louis had come home to find twelve blokes wearing luminous orange passed out drunk on his sofa, or halfway there, drinking beer out of his fridge and singing silly songs, with Harry at the heart of them. Luckily, Louis was laid back enough to find the situation funny, and more often than not he would hurl himself into the fray, get drunker than all of them put together, and end up falling asleep on the floor, leaving Harry to kick the guys out at past midnight and drag him back to bed. On the rare occasions that Louis _wasn’t_ in the mood, he would go straight through to his bedroom and lie down on the bed with a pillow over his head, until Harry came through to sit with him and stroked his headache away with cool hands, and apologised for bringing all his mates into Louis’ house, so that Louis melted and forgave him in an instant – as if he’d really been mad in the first place.

Not that Louis  _had_ many bad days. A couple of the prisoners got shirty with him occasionally – there was a new guy called Jon who fancied himself, and he got on Louis’ nerves, going on about this, that and the other, and doing Louis’ head in – and there was the odd fight, which always worried him, but other than that, things were going well. Harry worried about Louis, and spent an awful lot of time questioning him about how things were working out, but Louis just patted him amusedly and told him not to worry his pretty little head of curls about it.

“If anyone’s harassing you,” Harry had said importantly, “you just tell them they’ll have  _me_  to answer to.”

Trying not to laugh, Louis had patted him on the cheek. “I’m sure he’s quaking in his boots, babe; your dimples are enough to inspire the fear of God into anyone.”

Harry had scowled, but he couldn’t keep it up for long before he burst out laughing.

Reaching for a frying pan and the egg box, Harry cheerfully cracked the eggs and started frying them, expertly holding the pan handle with one long-fingered hand while Louis fidgeted impatiently behind him. A smile crept across Harry’s face as the eggs sizzled and the smell of them started to waft through the kitchen, and Louis whined and rested his chin on Harry’s bare shoulder in response. A light sprinkling of goosebumps was rising on Harry’s naked torso, and Louis’ hands found his shoulders and traced lightly down the contours of those bare arms until he reached Harry’s wrists, which he gripped lightly, a prelude to holding Harry’s busy hands.

“You really ought to wear more clothes,” he commented, “you’ll freeze to death at this rate.”

Harry laughed. “We both know you’d only take them off me, even if I did.”

“True,” Louis admitted, joining in the laughter.

For a while there was only the warmth of Harry’s skin on Louis’ neck, the soft brush of curls on his cheek, the cinnamon smell of his hair, and the sound and smell of the eggs cooking. Louis cradled Harry in his arms, holding him by the hips, and Harry shook his head fondly as he carefully scraped the egg whites off the bottom of the pan to keep them from burning. Hungrily reaching into the drawer for a fork, Louis reached into the frying pan and attempted to spear some of the egg onto it. Laughing and feigning outrage, Harry rapped his knuckles with the wooden spoon he was holding.

“Hey! Stop that, you!”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis whined, “I’m  _hungry_.”

“Yeah, well they’re almost done.”

“I’m hungry. I want them  _now_.”

“They aren’t cooked. They’ll make you sick.”

“I don’t care. I’m  _hungry_.” Finding a spot on Harry’s neck, Louis nuzzled him lightly and nibbled softly on his collarbone. “If you aren’t going to feed me, I’ll have to take a bite out of  _you_ instead.”

Shivering, Harry closed his eyes and attempted to concentrate on cooking Louis’ breakfast instead of collapsing helplessly into his arms, but it wasn’t easy. Every thought that passed through his brain, no matter how innocent, was tainted by the feel of Louis’ skin resting against his, and it took every ounce of restraint he had to keep his hands on the pan handle instead of on Louis’ waist.

“Harry…”

Louis captured Harry’s lower lip between his and tugged lightly on it, and a wild noise exploded out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop it, turning him bright red with embarrassment. Making an amused sound in the back of his throat, Louis slid his hands to Harry’s hips and tugged him closer, feeling a smile quirk his lips upwards.

It was hard to speak with half of his mouth trapped like that, but Harry managed it. “You’re going to have to choose,” he mumbled in a low voice, “between me, and food.”

Before Louis could comment, his stomach made the decision for him, growling noisily. Laughing, Harry kissed him affectionately on the mouth and then playfully pushed him away, turning back to the hob and carefully rubbing the livid purple bruise forming on his neck where Louis had bitten him. Pouting, Louis took a seat in one of their simple wooden kitchen chairs, rested his chin on his hand, and sat watching Harry cook with a small, dissatisfied expression on his face.

Eventually, Harry proclaimed the eggs as done, dealt them out onto two plates, and then sat pushing them around on his plate with his fork while Louis wolfed his down almost without blinking. When they had all vanished, Harry started feeding Louis across the table from his own plate, which Louis would usually have objected to – but he  _was_  hungry.

By the time they had finished with breakfast, Louis was no longer willing to be distracted by the offer of food, and he slid around the table, taking a seat on Harry’s lap and playing with his fingers, a small smile hovering on his mouth as his fingertips brushed up and down Harry’s bare arms, while Harry watched him and tried not to show how much he wanted Louis to keep touching him, and in other, less socially acceptable places. Unfortunately, people – especially their parents – had an unfortunate habit of turning up unexpectedly in the mornings to visit, and Anne, Jay, Gemma and Stan all had a key. The idea of one of their relatives bursting in to find he and Louis busily entwined in throes of passion on the floor was so humiliating that his neck turned scarlet just at the thought of it.

“Bless, you’re blushing,” Louis murmured, tapping his jaw with one fingertip. “Is the thought of my passionate loving making you…hot under the collar?” He caressed Harry’s shoulder with a small smile.

“It’s too early in the morning for that kind of thing. Besides, I don’t want anyone bursting in on us.”

“Awww, that’s adorable. You’re so shy and innocent. What, aren’t you the exhibitionist type? Bothered by the thought of an audience?”

“Now you mention it, yes.”

Louis chuckled. “Not very adventurous, are you?” He snuggled against Harry and slipped an arm around his shoulder.

“Publicly doing… _it_ …isn’t what I would class as adventurous. Just  _weird_.” Harry shook his head in mild disgust.

“Well, that’s a shame. I think it would be funny.” Louis grinned. “Can you imagine my mother’s face?”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Harry said with a shudder. “Don’t even  _joke_ about things like that.”

Louis opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing. Tutting, he lightly kissed Harry on the forehead, then the nose, then the mouth, linking their fingers together and holding on as he stood up, stretching both of their arms as far as they could before he eventually had to release Harry’s hand to pick the ringing phone up off the counter.

“This is the Tomlinson-Styles residence; Louis Tomlinson speaking,” he rattled off, and then grinned at Harry, who was smiling fondly. They had never exactly discussed calling their flat the ‘Tomlinson-Styles residence’, but somehow it had become an agreement between them that they had ended up referring to it as such. Each of them loved the opportunity of being able to say it.

On the other end of the line, another voice buzzed eagerly, and Louis attentively listened, closely observed by Harry, who watched him with one hand cupped around his neck.

“Yeah. Yeah? Really? That’s great!” Louis said delightedly.

Tilting his head interestedly to the left, Harry waited.

“That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, man. Yeah, of course! Listen, do you want to pop round sometime tomorrow? We’ll organize a little get-together or something, Harry and me. He’s missed you, you know. Nah, it’s  _fine,_ don’t be daft! I’m the party king! Or queen.” Louis laughed. “I’ll sort something out.  _We’ll_ sort something out.” Glancing at Harry, he smiled broadly. “Lots of alcohol and women – I know what you guys want. Don’t worry; I know some people.”

Harry thought he might explode with curiosity. Standing up, he wandered across the kitchen and wrapped an arm loosely around Louis’ waist, trying to coax an explanation out of him. Louis was still eagerly chatting away, much to Harry’s annoyance.

“No, seriously, it’s no problem. Thanks for letting us know. Wait until I tell Harry, he’s going to be thrilled!” Louis teasingly pinched one of Harry’s cheeks. “His little face is already all curious, bless him! Yeah, I’d better go tell him, put him out of his misery. I’ll see you around, yeah? Yeah. Great. Bye!” Hanging up with a grin, Louis turned back to Harry.

“Well?” Harry asked impatiently.

“Get some clothes on, curly,” Louis said with a grin, “We’ve got a party to organize. Niall’s been released!”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had to admit that when it came to organizing parties, Louis was every bit as fabulous at it as he had claimed to be – the whole party was excellent. Somehow Louis had managed to cram nearly one hundred people into their small flat, strung up fairy lights and a mirror ball from the ceiling, and bought as much alcohol as he, Harry, Stan, Hannah and Gemma had been able to carry between them and shove into the various vehicles they had at their disposal – in other words, rather a lot. On every work surface were plastic bowls of nuts and crisps, and there were lots of people snogging on the sofa, on the tables, on the floor, and when Harry went to use the bathroom he found a couple lying cheerfully snogging in the bath, which creeped him out a little. There even appeared to be several people using his and Louis’ bedroom, which he wasn’t best pleased about, but on the plus side, he had been clinging to Louis’ side all evening and Louis was in his element, and looking so gorgeous that it shouldn’t have been legal. His shirt was white, tight, and had the first four buttons undone, exposing an awful lot of chest, and an awful lot of love bites and various other marks that Harry had affectionately left there in order to make a claim to him.

Harry hadn’t seen Niall all night – presumably he was making the most of his freedom – but then again, Harry hadn’t seen much of  _anyone_ that night, other than Louis. It felt like his gaze was frozen on Louis, impossible to look away. He held Louis’ hand as they wandered around, and in his free hand Louis held a glass of something very fizzy that had a  very large percentage of alcohol, which he sipped every few seconds and refilled every minute or so. Harry didn’t have his own drink as such, but he would sneakily drink a little of Louis’ every now and  then, or take a cheeky swig from any drink he found lying around that had been abandoned. In that way, he got very, very drunk, very, very quickly, although it didn’t show; Harry was quite good at holding his alcohol.

There wasn’t a DJ as such; someone had put their ipod on shuffle and plugged it into the docking station, and random snatches of music burst across the room at odd moments, all completely unrelated. Perhaps the funniest moment was when Harry, Louis and about twenty other people were all attempting to do the Macarena in Louis’ very cramped living room, and then halfway through someone switched the song to  _Someone Like You_ by Adele, and the change was stunning to the room full of drunken youths. Harry and Louis were the first to recover: dramatically hurling himself backwards into Louis’ arms, Harry started swaying while he belted out  _Someone Like You_ at the top of his voice, with lots of exaggerated facial movements and arms waving wildly everywhere. Louis had discovered within the first week or so of their relationship that Harry had a good voice, from hearing him singing in the bath, but when drunk, he was most definitely not at his best. His voice wavered as he warbled the chorus totally off-key, swaying violently in a way which was partly due to the alcohol, and partly by design.

_“Never mind I’ll find someone like youuuuuuuu_!”

Louis burst out laughing – and suddenly whirling Harry around, he slammed their bodies ferociously together and captured Harry’s mouth in a fierce kiss. They had never really embraced much in public before, and for a moment or so Harry was taken aback – but then, with a resigned sigh, he collapsed into the careful grip of those familiar arms, and he was tilting his head back so that Louis could affectionately nip his neck and give him bruises that matched the ones that Harry had given him.

Someone changed the music again, to a song that Harry didn’t recognize – something fast and crazy that everyone started dancing wildly to. In response, the kiss evolved to match the tempo of the song, lips colliding over and over again as Louis found several handfuls of curls and slid his fingers through them, kneading Harry’s hair right to the roots. His curls were such a sensitive part of him that having them touched, as Louis knew all too well, send shivers of desperate longing all through Harry’s body, and with a frantic gasp, he leaned closer against Louis, wanting so much more of him than was available at that time. Before he could stop it, a loud, ragged moan tore itself from his mouth, and everyone in the immediate vicinity turned to look. Embarrassed, Harry turned his head away – which wasn’t easy, bearing in mind that Louis was hanging on to his hair – and tried to break free. After a lot of effort, quiet pleas of “Louis…Lou…” and a fair bit of shoving, Harry shook Louis off, rubbing his swollen mouth on the back of his hand. Eyes blazing, Louis turned to face the onlookers, glaring straight into their curious faces.

“Someone turn the music up,” he ordered, “and you lot, stop staring.  _You_ ,” he said to Harry, reaching for a drink and thrusting it into Harry’s hand, “get that down you, and stop being so bloody self-conscious. Right?”

Nodding humbly, Harry downed the alcohol in one as somebody raised the volume of the song, and people turned their backs on Harry and Louis and started to dance again. Taking Harry’s hand, Louis spun him around several times and did a little twirl, trying to coax Harry into movement. Together, they shuffled awkwardly in time to the music. Louis was no Fred Astaire, and he was appalling at dancing, but he did his best, until the last of the nosy guests had stopped watching them and gone back to their own dances.

“Nobody’s looking, okay?” Louis murmured, sidling closer to Harry. “Loosen up a bit.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered – and their mouths met once again.

Determined to get the two of them as drunk as possible, Louis started a drinking game of his own invention, which was like a reversed version of ‘chicken’ – whoever pulled away from the kiss last was the loser, and had to drink a glass of whatever alcohol was shoved at them. Seeing as he was more comfortable with strangers watching them, Louis was usually the one who fought to keep the kiss going, while Harry awkwardly dragged back – and so, when Harry was only slightly wobbly and more giggly than usual, Louis was barely able to stand and kept laughing so hard that he could hardly breathe. Being ridiculously drunk, Louis lost all inclination of what was considered socially acceptable, and kept trying to preposition Harry into doing all manner of things that they should definitely not be doing in public, and although Harry gently but firmly rejected all of these offers, the insistency with which Louis came onto him made him very hot around the collar – and quite tight around the pants, if you know what I mean. At one point, he had to dive into the kitchen for a drink of water and stuck his head into the fridge for a moment or so to cool down. On his return, he discovered that Louis had given up on him and was flirting with everyone else in the vicinity instead, a turn of events that Harry obviously wasn’t best pleased with.

Truthfully, when drunk, Louis honestly didn’t give a damn who he flirted with – male, female, or those few unfortunate large, greasy members of society whose gender was hard to establish – and when he was so determined to make Harry jealous, he disregarded it even more. At one point, he had to be steered away from making a pass at his own sister, who, in his drunken haze, he had failed to recognize. Harry did his best to keep Louis from doing anything he would regret, but the truth was that Louis was acting like a drunken high school slut, and there was very little that could discourage him from this course of action.

By the time Louis’ bruised and swollen mouth was smeared with the lipstick of six different girls, his hair was raked up in several conflicting directions by the hands of strangers, and he had several phone numbers clasped in one sweaty hand, Harry decided he’d had enough. Dragging Louis onto the couch, he proceeded to remind him exactly  _who_ he was in a relationship with, and  _why_ , all through the communication of a few quick snogs. It helped that Harry was an expert in the field of kissing Louis; the sweet spots on his neck and jawline that were unknown to strangers drew his mouth like a magnet, and he soon left everyone in the room in absolutely no doubt that however much of a man-slag Louis was making himself out to be, he was most definitely taken. Mercilessly teasing Louis’ mouth with an unforgiving ruthlessness that would make Louis regret every stranger he had kissed that night, Harry had his revenge in his own sweet way, simply by turning Louis on to an extent that was enough to rip his boxers, embarrassingly enough. With a wicked, dirty little laugh that sent Louis weak at the knees, Harry attacked his boyfriend’s mouth relentlessly, until Louis begged his forgiveness in the rare intervals that his lips were free and he was capable of coherent speech.

“Harry…” Louis gasped.

“Are you sorry yet?” murmured Harry.

“Yes!  _God_ , yes!”

“That’s funny…because I don’t think you’re sorry  _enough_.” Harry bit Louis’ mouth carefully, and Louis’ back arched as he scrabbled at the sofa.

“ _Harry_!”

The music was thankfully loud enough that nobody heard Louis’ weak cries for sympathy, or Harry’s chuckles in response, and as Harry held Louis’ hands so that he couldn’t start tearing either of their clothes off, he couldn’t help but grin.

“Harry –” Louis choked, wrenched one of his hands free with a desperate strength, and then slammed it over his mouth.

Harry yelped as he fell backwards and hit the floor, narrowly missing being trampled by a rather large pregnant woman who was dancing wildly nearby. Louis had turned ghostly white. Dragging himself away, he made a sprint for the bathroom, hand covering his lips. Harry pouted, wondering if he’d taken things too far. Picking himself up, he dodged around the leaping mass of people and found his way into the bathroom, where Louis was clinging to the toilet and groaning as he emptied the contents of his stomach into it. Wincing, Harry sat beside him, rubbing his back sympathetically as a groaning Louis brought back everything he had consumed that night: god knows how much alcohol, half a bowl of nuts, and several chocolate bars that he had forced down.

“I’ll get rid of that lot,” Harry promised, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “Stay there, yeah?”

Louis moaned weakly in response.

It took Harry quite a while to disperse the unwilling crowd, but when someone – Stan, probably; it seemed like the sort of thing he would do – yelled that the party could continue at their place, and the mass of drunken partiers had finally poured out of the flat and into the corridor beyond, Harry found his front door key and locked them all out. Exhaustedly groaning at the mess, the bottles everywhere, the spilled food, the items of clothing, and everything else that had been left behind for him and Louis to clear up, Harry hurried back into the bathroom.

Louis was still crouched over the toilet, head hanging pathetically as he coughed weakly and tried to clear his throat. Dropping to the floor beside him, Harry patted him carefully on the back and rested his face against Louis’ shoulder.

“Oh, Boo. Why did you drink so much?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Louis mumbled.

“Where’s your  _head_?”

“God knows. I’ve been really stupid. I was acting like a bit of a slut, wasn’t I?”

“You could say that,” Harry said wryly.

“Ugh. I’m sorry.”

“No harm done.” Shaking his head, Harry said “wait here a second.”

He vanished from the room, and reappeared a moment later dragging his duvet and Louis’ pillow behind him. Tucking the duvet around Louis’ shoulders, he dropped the pillow to the floor and lay down, taking Louis’ hand.

“Bring it all back, yeah? I’ll stay with you until you’ve stopped throwing up.”

“That might not be any time soon,” Louis panted warningly.

“I know,” Harry said softly. “I don’t mind.”

So as Louis groaned and retched into the toilet once again, Harry clung to his icy fingers and curled up underneath the edge of the duvet, snuggling against the floor. His head was starting to ache, he was cold and tired and he wanted to rush back to bed and lie down somewhere soft and fall asleep – but Harry Styles doesn’t break promises. So he closed his eyes and he held Louis’ hand, and that was where he stiffly fell asleep on the linoleum…never loosening his grasp for a second.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Trying so hard not to read this whilst I copy and paste it because the flashes I'm getting are so cripplingly embarrassing, ehhhhh)

Harry awoke to find that he was no longer flattened against the bathroom floor. His fingers were still linked with Louis’, but they were in bed, lying curled around each other, Louis’ legs wrapped around Harry’s waist and his chin on Harry’s shoulder. As Harry slowly opened his eyes, Louis wriggled more closely against him with a low moan. He was pale and sickly looking, with dark circles underneath his bloodshot eyes, his hair exploding everywhere, and both his neck and mouth fiercely bruised from Harry’s vengeful kisses the night before.

“You look terrible,” Harry murmured sympathetically.

“Thanks,” Louis groaned. “That’s good to know.”

“I think I might have got a bit carried away last night,” admitted Harry, lightly touching Louis’ tender, very red mouth.

“A  _bit_?”

“All right,  _very_.” Harry rolled over and folded his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “How did we get from the bathroom to here?”

“I carried you,” Louis said dramatically.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I  _think_ I did. It’s kind of hard to remember.  _You_  might have carried  _me_.”

Snorting, Harry agreed, “Yeah, that seems more likely.”

“How drunk was I?”

“You tried to kiss your sister.”

Louis groaned and whacked his head against the pillow. “No! Oh, God,  _no_! Tell me you stopped me!”

“Of course I did; you think I wanted to see that? Incest isn’t at all attractive.”

“I’m an idiot!”

“I could have told you that,” Harry teased, ruffling his hair. He sighed and stretched. “Come on, up you get.”

“What? Ugh…no! I’m staying here. I feel bloody awful.”

“Breakfast is good for a hangover,” Harry said cheerfully, grabbing Louis’ wrist and hauling him upwards, out of bed and onto his feet.

“I’ll remind you of that next time I find you passed out drunk on the couch,” Louis muttered as he staggered out of their bedroom and into the main flat.

They both groaned in disbelief. Bottles, packets of crushed peanuts, broken glass, items of clothing strewn across the sofa and hanging from the ceiling…shoes left abandoned on the floor, people’s drinks half full on the table, overturned furniture, broken glass, and lots of their possessions were knocked over, including a photo of the two of them from the day Harry was released, which now had a lovely big crack in the glass. This was the aftermath of the party from the night before, and that was when Louis remembered  _why_ he loved organizing parties but usually made sure to throw them in someone else’s house.

Delicately picking through the debris on his tip-toes, Harry held out a hand and help to guide the bleary-eyed Louis around the detritus. Kicking an abandoned beer can out of his way, he carefully bundled Louis into the kitchen and then turned and headed for the front door to collect the post. Comforting kitchen sounds clanked behind him as Louis started foraging in the fridge, looking for the milk, clearly having the sense to realize that, when hung-over, his cooking would be even worse than usual. Shaking his head fondly, Harry reached for the pile of letters on the doormat; six brown envelopes, an official looking white one, and then another, square white one that he paid little attention to.

As he headed back for the kitchen, Harry shuffled uninterestedly through the mail, pulling a face at each one. Bills, bills, and even more bills. Disgustedly throwing them onto the kitchen table, where they narrowly missed landing in a pool of vodka, he pulled a face. When his community service was over, he could start trying for a job – then maybe he could help out a little bit. So far, his only contribution to the bills had been massaging Louis’ neck and shoulders while he withdrew the money from the bank to pay them; it wasn’t as if Harry hadn’t offered, but Louis point blank refused to take any of Harry’s savings, and there was no changing his mind.

Coming to the final letter, Harry paused and frowned at it. It was around the size and shape of a birthday card, hand delivered, as there was no address on it: just _Harry Styles_ written in rough, untidy handwriting, as if it had been written left-handed. He was thoroughly confused. It wasn’t his birthday. Unless one of the neighbours had heard their wild party the night before and just assumed; usually Harry and Louis were reasonably quiet and polite, and apart from the odd… _noise_ …in the middle of the night, which thankfully their neighbours were too polite to question, they caused very little disturbance.

As Harry found himself a bowl, took the milk away from Louis and fixed himself some cornflakes, he opened the envelope, and shook out a folded piece of white paper. One-handed, he started opening it as he picked up the bowl with his other hand and started carrying it over to the table, preparing to find an available space where he could put it down. He spared a cursory glance for the letter in his hand.

It wasn’t exactly a textbook threatening note: there were no stark, creepy letters clumsily snipped from a newspaper and pasted onto a page. The words were large, black and typed, with no spelling errors and with a chilling precision that was almost frightening, as if the writer had known exactly which words would terrify Harry the most. Yet, at the same time, it was crude and ugly, presumably just like the person who had written it. Typed in Comic Sans (the font of the devil) were the harsh words

**I know what you did.**

Even worse than that, though, was the crumpled newspaper cutting that fell into his fingers as he stared in shock at the message; an extract hastily snipped from the _Daily Mail_. There was a picture of a harsh, unfriendly, thick-skulled man that dominated half of the article; he had a snarl on his face and cold, harsh brown eyes glared out through the ink. Printed just above the photo was the ominous headline DEREK THORNBY RELEASED THREE YEARS PREMATURELY.

There was a sharp sound of breaking china as Harry dropped the bowl and it shattered on the floor, milk and cornflakes spraying in every direction. Milk splashed over Harry’s bare feet; he didn’t even flinch. His horrified gaze was frozen on the piece of paper in his shaking hand.

“Harry?” Louis asked, his head snapping up to see the look of terror on Harry’s face.

Hangover or no hangover, Louis wasn’t about to hang around feeling sorry for himself when there was an expression like  _that_ on Harry’s face. Dumping his own bowl on the counter, he rushed across the room and had his arms around Harry’s waist in an instant, gently pulling the first sheet of paper out of Harry’s trembling fingers. He scanned the words, and all the colour leeched from his face, leaving the two of them as white as a pair of corpses.

“It can’t be for us,” Louis croaked. “It  _can’t_.”

Wordlessly, Harry flipped over the envelope, displaying the clumsily scrawled _Harry Styles_ on the other side.

Louis clung to him in fear, knowing that soon he would have to take charge of the situation. He had always been the calmer of the two; Harry looked to him for instruction the majority of the time, and with the look on the younger boy’s face, it was clear which of them was thinking more rationally. Still, allowing himself the luxury of a moment of panic, he desperately hung onto the comforting, solid warmth of Harry’s body, breathing in carefully at the sensation of long arms around him, knowing that even if he had to be in charge, Harry’s reassuring weight would still always be there. It took him a few more moments to take a steadying breath, but by the time he had taken it, a little of the colour was returning to his face.

“It’s okay,” he said calmly. “So somebody knows that you killed a guy. It’s hardly a big secret, is it?”

Harry shook his head fiercely. “It’s not about that, Lou,” he whispered.

“What else could it be about?”

Pulling away, Harry buried his face in his hands and circled the room several times, making weak, scared little noises.

“Harry?” Louis asked sharply. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Harry shook his head, but the lie was painfully obvious as he gripped his hair in both hands, ready to start tearing it out. Louis re-read the short, bleak little threat, and examined the newspaper cutting again, but it yielded no clues; the name Derek Thornby meant nothing to him. At a loss, he looked worriedly over in Harry’s direction.

“Harry, what’s going on?”

Shaking his head again, Harry moaned quietly.

“Harry! Tell me!”

“It’s nothing,” Harry insisted – but his voice cracked.

“I don’t understand. Okay, so you killed a guy, but I don’t see why that’s such a big deal.”

“It isn’t that,” said Harry in a muffled voice.

“ _What_ , then?”

“I can’t –”

“Harry!”

“For God’s sake, Louis, don’t make me spell it out!”

“ _What_? I don’t understand!”

A mirthless smile quirked Harry’s lips upwards. “Did you never wonder how I got out of prison so quickly? Manslaughter is still a serious crime, Louis. You don’t just get given community service and a pat on the head for manslaughter.”

“What are you saying?” Louis asked slowly.

“I had to do some pretty serious stuff to get out of there,” Harry said quietly. “Things I should never have done. Ever.”

The colour hadn’t returned to his face, but as moisture filled his eyes, they turned red, looking creepy in his pale face. Tears started to drip quickly down Harry’s cheeks, and Louis watched them fall in shock.

“Harry, I don’t –”

“ _I was a prison snitch, okay_?” Harry shouted hysterically.

“What?” Louis asked faintly.

“A mole. An informant. A grass.” He laughed shakily. “A tell-tale. Whatever you want to call it.”

Appalled, Louis stared at him in disgust. “You leaked information to the prison staff? About your  _friends_? Harry, that’s  _sick_! Why would you  _do_ that?”

“No!” Harry cried. “I wouldn’t! Not to my friends!” He took a shuddering breath. “It was only at Whitehall. Nobody there liked me anyway.”

“For God’s sake, Harry, what is  _wrong_ with you?” Louis demanded. “Don’t you _know_ what happens to prison snitches? Do you not  _watch_ TV? You could have been –” he stopped dead.

Harry looked up anxiously.

“No,” Louis whispered.

“What?” asked Harry worriedly.

“No.  _No_. Harry, they  _didn’t_.”

“ _What_?”

“They did, didn’t they? They beat you up because you were snitching on them! Oh my  _God_. Harry, you said it was because of  _us_. Because of  _me_. You said they beat you up because we were together! Harry, did you  _lie_ to me?”

“Lou, I swear, it wasn’t –”

“They didn’t give a damn about you being gay, did they?” Louis said angrily.

“It wasn’t  _just_ the snitching!” Harry insisted. “They weren’t too keen on my sexuality either. I swear, Louis, I never –”

“Do you have  _any_ idea what you put me through?” Louis hissed. “Do you  _know_ how  _guilty_ I was? I still have nightmares about it, did you realize that?”

Harry’s mouth fell open with a little pop. “I didn’t –”

“You  _lied_ to me!”

“Please, Louis! You have to understand; I didn’t do it for  _me_! I did it for us, so we could be together! I did it for  _you_!”

“Oh, no,” Louis said sharply, “don’t you try to pin this one on me. Say whatever you like, Harry, but don’t you  _dare_ blame this on me.” Without allowing Harry another moment to protest, Louis clenched his fists, turned on his heel and stalked angrily out of the room, head bowed and back stiff.

It was their very first argument. Harry had known that it would happen sometime, but he had never realized how awful it would be to have Louis yelling at him, to see him angry, to have the anger Harry never knew Louis possessed directed at him. The steely look in those dark blue eyes had been enough to make his stomach hurt with the intensity of the rage swirling within them. Harry gave a tiny little gasp and collapsed to the floor, arms wrapped around his knees – and then he started to cry. Shaking all over, he sat on the cool tiles sobbing for a good forty minutes, until his eyes were red and sore and his chest hurt from the sobs relentlessly tearing their way out.

He had just buried his face in his knees when an arm slipped around his shoulders, pulling him closer with a heavy sigh. Looking up, he discovered that Louis was sat on the floor beside him, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. That was…unfair.”

“I never thought,” Harry croaked. “I never realized…I knew it was wrong, but all I knew was that if I could get out quicker, then…we could be together.”

“You have to understand; I’m not mad at you for snitching – although I probably _should_ be. I’m mad at you for putting  yourself in danger.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, God, don’t. Don’t  _apologise_. What good will that do?” Pulling them both to their feet, Louis wrapped his arms around Harry, holding him closely against his chest. “What’s done is done, okay? We can’t change it. Right now, honey, we just have to relax.”

Under normal circumstances, ‘honey’ would have been rolling his eyes at the pet name – but at that moment, there were other things on his mind. “Relax? How can we relax? They know where we live!”

“Yeah, and do they have a key? No, they don’t. We’re safe in here, Harry. They can’t get in. Besides, these people are cowards. They’ll send us messages, but they won’t do anything face to face.”

Harry shuddered. “You haven’t met Derek Thornby.”

“Tough as old boots, is he?”

“Yeah.”

“Without his mates, he’ll be as soft as a comfy pair of slippers,” Louis promised. “And they’re all safely banged up in Whitehall. They can’t touch us, babe. They can’t touch us.” Even as he said it, his hands were finding purchase in Harry’s curls, searching for the places that Harry couldn’t resist, tugging gently at the roots of his hair. “We’re safe.”

Harry moaned quietly at the sweet sensation of cool fingers in his hair, and, unwillingly, he tilted his head back in response. Louis’ magic fingers stroked the stress away, and Harry was at his mercy, unable to endure the duress of such perfect torture. It felt too good, too distracting, and when he tried to pull away it felt even better as his hair pulled through Louis’ long fingers.

“Come on,” Louis murmured. “Come on. It’s okay.”

Harry shook his head in protest, then gasped slightly at the tingle of pleasure that caused in the roots of his curls.

“Come on,” Louis coaxed, taking Harry’s fingers and playing suggestively with the collar of his shirt. “I can help you relax. Come on.”

And with that promise ringing in his ears, Harry succumbed, and allowed Louis to drag him into their bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

They had spent most of the rest of that day in bed, so Harry woke up unreasonably early the next morning. Raising his head, he noticed in shock that Louis had freshly washed hair, like he’d just leapt out of the bath (why he refused to get a shower like most people was anybody’s guess, but it certainly made for a romantic evening; Louis’ bath was the size of a small paddling pool and there was plenty of room when they wanted to share it, which they had on several occasions – presumably that was the reason he had such a fondness for it). He was freshly shaven – Harry momentarily mourned the sexy rock-star stubble until he thought of how it started to feel slightly unpleasant kissing scrubbing-brush bristles after a while – and wearing a pair of tight, newly washed blue jeans…  _his_ jeans, Harry noticed with pleasure, although it didn’t take him long to get over the way his stomach did back-flips at seeing Louis share his clothes. As he watched Louis pull a white t-shirt over his head and check that his keys were in the pocket of his leather jacket, Harry felt a twist of unease, because if Louis was getting dressed at – he checked the clock – 7am, that meant that he was going to work, and with threatening messages floating around the flat, Harry had no intention of letting him go  _anywhere_.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked. His voice was hoarse for reasons which made him blush; he hoped the neighbours had been out the day before. He hadn’t exactly been  _quiet_.

“Getting dressed,” Louis said patiently. “I’m going to work.”

“No!” wailed Harry. Leaping out of bed with the duvet wrapped around him like a toga, hiding his state of undress, he staggered over to Louis – ooh, that was sore; they’d been very enthusiastic…he wondered if Louis could still walk straight? – he hurled his arms around Louis and clung to him, burying his face in his shoulder. “No,” he insisted childishly.

“Harry…” Louis protested, trying to shove him away.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Harry, don’t be childish. I have to go to work so we can pay the bills so we have somewhere to  _live_ , remember?”

“I don’t want to be on my own!” Harry pleaded.

It was sly and manipulative of him, but he knew that given the slightest inclination that Harry was scared, Louis wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing that he’d left him in that way. He let the bait lie for a while, giving Louis the best pleading look he was capable of – until eventually, he heard the long, heavy sigh which meant that he had won.

“Harry…” Louis brushed his lips platonically against Harry’s forehead, and Harry breathed softly out. He knew he had won the argument, but just to make sure…

“Please?” he breathed.

And with that, Louis was his.

“I’ll phone in sick,” Louis sighed, “but I swear, this is the last time!”

Nodding contritely, Harry watched as Louis retrieved his phone and pressed a string of numbers in quick succession – then he was talking, his lies coming quickly and so naturally that even Harry was tempted to swallow them.

“Hi, Pam. I, ah…I just wanted to let you know that I’m not feeling very well today. I’m going to have to stay at home.” Louis hastily inserted a cough for the woman’s benefit. “I’m sure you know how it is. I don’t want the prisoners catching anything. Hmm? Yes, it is poor timing. No, I…don’t think I need a doctor…no, it’s definitely not that, um…serious.” Turning to Harry, he pulled a face. “Thanks for your concern, but it’s just a little bug, that’s all. No, I’m sure I’ll be in tomorrow. I just think I’d better sleep it off. Yes. No. Haha, yes…that’s great. Look, I’d better…um…bye!” He hung up.

Harry grinned wickedly. “She  _well_ fancies you – I hope you made it clear that you’re taken.”

“I already told her she’s not my type. She doesn’t have the right equipment.”

A laugh escaped Harry’s throat and he clapped a hand over his mouth to hold it back.

“Come on, then,” Louis sighed. “Seeing as you’re keeping me prisoner, you may as well make me breakfast.”

Harry did indeed make breakfast – a proper full English breakfast, using up half the food they had in the fridge, to his horror. Realizing that his overconsumption of ingredients would only mean that they would have to go shopping sooner, Harry felt so sick with worry that he couldn’t eat his own fry up and had to watch Louis bolt both of their breakfasts down, anxiously twisting his chef’s hat in his hands as he stared blankly at the table. He ended up clearing up as much of the mess from the party as he could while Louis  ate, until the flat was finally presentable – then Louis got out a DVD, and they sat stiffly on the sofa to watch it with Louis’ arm thrown uncomfortably round Harry’s shoulder, the contact painfully forced.

When the film was almost over, and it had come to an extremely slushy, romantic part, Louis grabbed Harry’s arms and pulled Harry on top of him, and they lay back on the sofa snogging awkwardly like a couple of inexperienced teenagers. Still, Harry’s heart wasn’t really in it, and after about ten minutes of endurance, he pulled away and sat on the edge of the sofa with an embarrassed look on his face.

“No offence, Lou, but I’m not really feeling it.”

“No, me neither,” Louis admitted wryly. “The mood isn’t really there, is it?”

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. Somehow, whenever he’d imagined Louis skipping work to spend the day with him, things had always been a bit more…passionate. He was actually quite disappointed. Standing up, he stretched awkwardly, feeling like he might suddenly start screaming. He had too much energy and nothing to expend it on. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his arms, thinking hard. He’d had that feeling before…and as he brushed the ridged scars on his wrists, it was hard not to remember what he’d done next.

“I’ll be back in a second,” he promised, vanishing into the kitchen.

The moment he had closed the door behind him and had some privacy, Harry was diving for the cutlery drawer and his fingers were closing around the handle of the sharpest knife. He felt so weak and helpless, so out of control…but already he was feeling the first thrills of excitement. His memory dredged up the sensations he remembered so clearly: the weirdly soothing ache of fresh cuts, the rhythmic slice of metal on his pale wrist, the feeling of his mind spiralling out of control as he commanded his body, proving that it was matter over mind that won in the end, not the other way around…breathing out sharply, Harry carefully tapped the knife against his wrist in anticipation. It had been so long since he’d felt the icy bite of metal on his skin; since before he and Louis had gotten together, and he missed it. There was nothing so terrifying, or so exhilarating, as watching warm blood spill over his wrists, painting them scarlet, pouring down to the floor and pooling at his feet as he cried out in agony despite his longing to stay silent, to stay strong…Steadying himself, Harry raised the knife, ready to bring it down and see that satisfying steely flash in the air –

A hand caught his wrist, holding him in place, and Harry found himself staring into deep, sad blue eyes. He swallowed, hard.

“Don’t,” Louis said warningly.

Harry wildly scanned the counter for an excuse, some reason that he could conjure for having gotten a knife out – but he could think of none, and with his scarred left wrist held out in front of him, what he had been about to do was blindingly obvious. He blushed painfully. His hold on the knife slackened, and Louis slid it safely out of his hand.

“Why?” he whispered.

Harry took a very deep breath. “I don’t know. You’re the psychologist – you tell me.”

“Sometimes, when people are in a lot of mental pain, they turn to physical pain as a distraction,” Louis recited. He sighed heavily. “I’ve never understood  _why_.”

“I don’t know. It’s just like…I’ve got all of this energy, and I have to let it all out, or I’ll explode.”

“I’d offer to help you burn some of it off, but I’m still recovering from last night,” Louis admitted with a small laugh. “Ooh. It was…vigorous, shall we say? Someone was a bit frustrated.”

Harry coughed. “Yes, well. I never got to finish what we started at the party, ‘cos you were kind of busy throwing up. I felt that I owed you – and me – a bit of… _enthusiasm_.”

“Well, you certainly had that,  _Jesus_ ,” Louis muttered, shifting his weight. He looked sheepishly downwards.

Choking back a laugh, Harry said innocently “Was I a bit rough?”

“Oh no, dear, not at all,” was Louis’ sarcastic response, “I do so love being bitten. In that  _particular_ place. Did you  _have_  to?”

“I felt it was necessary,” grinned Harry.

Louis tutted. “You’ll have to be gentler with me next time. You might break me.”

“You can’t tame me. Unless you bring biscuits.” Harry rolled his eyes. “But I’ll keep in mind that you’re old and fragile and tone it down a bit next time, how’s that?”

“I’ll give you old and fragile! You just  _wait_ , Styles; I’ll show you whose old and fragile,” Louis threatened – and then he dived and started a violent tickling war.

Harry shrieked and squealed and kicked violently, squirming and scrabbling as he attempted to tickle Louis back – and they both collapsed to the kitchen floor in a giggling, ticklish heap, all thoughts of cutting, bills and threatening messages forgotten.


	5. Chapter 5

When Harry unexpectedly in the middle of the night started screaming, their assumption was proved about as wrong as it could be. Thrashing around so violently that he quite literally fell out of bed and landed in a heap on the floor, Harry screeched and lashed out and kicked, flailing violently with the duvet holding his limbs still, and with a yelp Louis awoke, finding himself lying awkwardly on the bed with no duvet and no Harry to keep him warm, twisted into a position that no longer worked when there was no familiar body beside him for him to curl around.

“Harry?”

Harry was still screaming, and with a jolt of shock Louis remembered words that had been spoken by a friend a long time ago: a warning from Liam, that Harry tended to cry out in his sleep when he was scared. Having never had the pleasure of the Stonehaven night-shift, Louis had never experienced that situation before – and he was more than a little frightened by the sight of the usually confident boy curled up in a tight ball on the floor, fists clenched, eyes squeezed tightly shut, yowling like a wounded animal.

Louis dragged his inactive, sleepy body out of bed, wrinkling his nose at the creaking of the mattress, and then instead of slipping to the floor, allowed himself to drop off the bed with a thump on the polished wooden boards. He crawled over to where Harry lay convulsing on the ground, and, disorientated in the darkness, started struggling to free him from the duvet that had him trapped, which was presumably not helping Harry’s unconscious panic. His hands were hurried and clumsy from exhaustion, and he only hindered Harry’s efforts to free himself. As Louis watched helplessly, he stared at the wide shape of Harry’s open mouth and panicked at the horrible sound he was making, wanting to stifle the yells but afraid to suffocate him.

“Harry, please wake up!”

Harry jerked upright and his eyes flew open, his howls cut off. He stared unblinkingly at Louis with his mouth still hanging wide open, crying replaced by deathly silence that was almost more horrible than the screaming. After studying his blank expression, Louis realized that Harry was still asleep – and the sight of him with his eyes open and mouth stretched in a soundless shriek, despite being unconscious, was horrifying. It was like sleepwalking, only ten times creepier.

“I didn’t mean to do it. I never meant to.”

He spoke so clearly, and with such perfect clarity, that Louis almost believed for a moment that he had awoken – but his face was expressionless, his tone dead and words crystal clear. Louis reached out to touch him and shuddered at the unnatural stillness of his stiff body, forced into a sitting position.

“What, love?” Louis asked softly, even though he was pretty sure Harry couldn’t hear him.

“I didn’t  _mean_ to!” Harry whined.

“Okay. It’s okay. I know you didn’t.”

“I  _didn’t_!” protested Harry. “It was an accident!”

“I –” Louis suddenly realized that Harry wasn’t talking to him; he was having a whole other conversation that Louis couldn’t hear, a discussion going on inside Harry’s mind. Leaning closer, he rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Come on, Harry. Wake up. It isn’t real, okay? There’s nobody there. Come on, wake up and talk to me.”

“I never meant to hurt anyone!” Harry insisted. “He was just there, and…there was a knife…and I just – I just wanted to  _scare_ him, like he scared Michael! I never meant –” he started shivering violently.

Louis felt sick. Harry rarely spoke of The Incident, but Louis knew that it was something which would haunt him for the rest of his life – and Louis didn’t want to think about the finer points of what Harry had done if he could avoid it. If Harry had wanted to discuss it, then he would have listened, but unless he really  _had_ to listen, he would rather not know the details.

“Right,” Louis said firmly. “I understand. Just…forget about it, yeah? What’s done is done. You’re here now. You’re with me. You’re safe.”

The only response was Harry quivering under his fingers, and Louis gripped him a little tighter, wondering if the hardness of his hands might be enough to rouse the boy from his trancelike kind of sleep.

“Harry.”

“I can still see it,” Harry said simply, holding his hands out in front of him, palms facing up, fingers spread widely apart.

Louis looked down, confused. “See what?” he asked.

“His blood on my hands,” Harry said quietly.

His head jerked, his eyes widened with comprehension, and he  _saw_ Louis. Shock passed across Harry’s face like a dark cloud, and he swallowed, eyes filling with tears as he blinked in surprise at his hands. Louis felt a horrible sense of pity as he watched the fear on Harry’s face, making his stomach twist. Trembling all over, Harry reached out and grabbed hold of Louis’ arm, then looked at it in confusion as if he hadn’t expected anything to be there.

“Louis?” he whispered.

“I’m here,” Louis promised.

“I saw him,” Harry croaked. “In my dreams.”

“Who?” asked Louis – although he had a horrible feeling that he already knew.

“ _Him_ ,” Harry said faintly. “He’s coming for me. Coming for  _us_.”

“Ssssssh,” Louis begged, hugging him tightly. “Don’t, love.”

“He’s coming for us!” Harry insisted desperately. “ _Him_.  _Derek_. He’s coming to ruin everything!”

“Harry, you had a nightmare! It’s okay! Calm down.”

“ _Calm down_? How can I calm down? He’s going to get us!”

“I’ve told you, Harry – we’re  _safe_. Calm, babe, yeah? Calm.” Louis kissed his nose carefully. “Look. Feel that? That’s my promise. I promise, Derek  _isn’t_ coming.”

“Tell me again,” Harry begged. “Tell me again. Kiss me and tell me he isn’t coming. Tell me until I believe it.”

Louis pulled the two of them back onto the bed, wrapping the duvet around their shoulders and pulling Harry onto his lap as he leaned against the headboard. His hands glided smoothly down Harry’s back, loosening the knotted tension in his muscles, and he touched their foreheads briefly together. He cuddled Harry for a moment or so, holding him carefully, and then he gently pressed his lips to Harry’s, moulding their mouths together. He held the position for a moment or so, then lightly nibbled Harry’s lower lip, tugging gently on it – and released it, showering butterfly kisses to the corner of Harry’s trembling mouth.

“Derek isn’t coming,” Louis said again. “He can’t hurt us. He isn’t coming.”

It took a lot of effort and shaky breaths before Harry eventually whispered “Okay.”

“Do you believe it yet?”

“…Not really.”

“Then let me hold you until you  _do_ believe it.”

“I think I can allow that,” Harry said wryly.

He slept even closer to Louis for the rest of that night, and the nightmares didn’t come back.

 *  *  *  *  *  *

They didn’t mention Harry’s nightmare the next morning. Louis got dressed, kissed Harry on the forehead, and then drove off in his Porsche, ready for a day at work. Harry lazed around the house for an hour or so, wishing he hadn’t got up so early, then when nine o’clock rolled around, he put on some old grey sweatpants with holes near the hem, and a stain on the knees that wouldn’t come out, and he put one of Louis’ shirts on and covered it with his luminous orange  **COMMUNITY SERVICE** vest, and then he was cheerfully catching the bus to the city centre, ready to go and clean the streets. He got a few filthy looks, but he didn’t care much about that – he was getting used to it by now. Luckily, people didn’t know  _what_ he had done to get community service; they mostly assumed that he was an ASBO teen. Nobody knew.

Except, clearly,  _somebody_ knew.

Harry hopped off the bus and met up with his mates, the nicest of whom was a twenty-five year old ex-con artist called Dan, who was a firm friend of Harry’s. They punched each other, Dan grabbed Harry’s hair and pulled half of it out, and Harry elbowed Dan in his large stomach. Greetings over and done with, they cheerily went back to cleaning litter off the pavement, and while most of the men bantered back and forth, Harry and Dan played  their own little game which they had come up with to pass the time. They were both quite happily taken, but as a joke, they would each keep an eye out for people on the street who they thought the other might fancy, and ask their opinion. It was a silly game, and nothing ever came of it, but Harry enjoyed it, because despite being as straight as a ruler, Dan had no issues whatsoever with Harry’s preferences, and cheerily pointed out every vaguely attractive (or often unattractive) male within a fifty foot radius – it was an amusing way of winding each other up, if nothing else.

“Her,” Harry said as he brushed a pile of leaves into the gutter, indicating a curvy redhead crossing the street. She wore tight denim shorts and a very baggy top, and hipster glasses, and Harry had to admit that she was attractive.

“Yes,” Dan allowed, giving the girl an approving smile, “but I think she could lose the glasses. They’re all wrong for her face.”

Harry tilted his head, considering. “Maybe she actually  _needs_  them?”

Dan snorted. “No. You obviously don’t know women.  _Nobody w_ ears glasses like that except to make a statement. It’s the fashion.”

“But they’re ugly as hell!”

Dan shrugged. “Fashion.” Scanning the street, he picked up on a moody looking guy who was wandering along the pavement in a navy tracksuit, tapping manically at a Blackberry, tattoos and nose rings in plain sight, and long, stringy hair falling across his face. “How about that guy?”

“Ew, no! Are you kidding me? I’ve never seen a bigger chav in all my life! Besides, you could fry a year’s worth of McDonalds’ French fries in the grease in that guy’s hair.” Harry shuddered.

“True.” Looking down the street, Dan pointed at a tall, pouting teen with a lot of black hair, a sullen expression and giant headphones, who had his hands thrust into the pockets of his black skinny jeans. He was shuffling with a zombified expression down the street, bloodshot eyes ringed with dark shadows, and long sleeves pulled down to cover every inch of his arms despite the fact that it was quite a warm day. “Him?”

“Emo,” Harry said immediately.

“Hypocrite!” Dan shot back without thinking.

Harry blushed painfully.

Instantly, Dan looked down. “Sorry,” he said guiltily. “That was uncalled for.” He sneaked a glance at Harry’s bare, scarred arms.

Shrugging, Harry said “Forget it. It doesn’t matter. I’m over that now.” He chose not to think about how close he had come to  _not_ being ‘over that’ in the past day or so.

Swiftly changing the subject, Dan looked across the road, and then he smirked, spotting someone walking purposefully down the road. “What about  _that_ guy?”

Harry turned to look, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Oh, yes. I’d tap that.”

“I may be straight, but even  _I_ can see that is one hot piece of ass,” Dan said with a grin.

“I might have to agree with you,” Harry answered. “In fact, I  _might_ just have to go over there and have a  _word_  with that hot piece of ass.”

“Ooh, naughty. You sure that guy isn’t out of your league?”

“Most definitely,” said Harry with a grin, “but when has that ever stopped me?” Propping his broom up against the wall, he shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered across the road, a lazy smile plastered across his face as he approached the hottest piece of ass that side of the universe.

“Hey, stranger,” he called as he drew closer. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to walk round here? Someone might take advantage of you. Someone like  _me_.”

Pausing, the guy turned to look his way. “Oh really? Someone like you, huh?”

“Oh, yes. I’m deadly. Turn around, princess, before something bad happens to ya.”

A challenging look glinting in his eye, the guy lifted his chin defiantly. “Maybe I  _like_ danger.”

Harry took hold of the guy’s wrist and pulled him closer, tugging their bodies together daringly. “Just as well,” he whispered, “because I would have had my wicked way with you whether you liked it or not.” Smirking, he kissed him on the forehead and then stepped back with a smile, surveying him approvingly. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

Louis looked amused. “You’re terrible. Flirting on the job – shame on you!”

“Oh, I know; I’m unstoppable. If they paid me, they’d have to dock my wages to cover flirting expenses.”

Sighing heavily, Louis touched their foreheads together. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Oh dear. That might be somewhat of a problem. You see, if I had my way, your mouth would be… otherwise engaged,” Harry said lightly.

Louis slapped him gently on the arm. “Stop flirting with me for a second! I’m serious.”

“Okay,” Harry said, “sorry.” He focused intently on Louis’ eyes. “You have my full and undivided attention.”

“Right.” Louis took a deep breath. “Did you lend your phone to one of the guys earlier?” he said in a rush.

Harry frowned and patted his pocket. “No, but one of them might have nabbed it without me guessing…it’s there now, but you never know. Why?”

“I got a funny phone call earlier, that’s all. I can’t think of anyone who would do that; I thought maybe they got my number off you.”

“What  _sort_ of funny phone call?” Harry asked concernedly, lightly gripping Louis by the elbows. He couldn’t hold his hands; Louis’ arms were folded across his chest.

“Just, uh…” Louis swallowed awkwardly. “Breathing. You know – like, heavy, _sexual_ breathing. I thought it was you at first, but then I figured, it wasn’t your ringtone…”

Confused, Harry pulled a face. “Weird. I don’t know, it might have been somebody here…these guys have a weird sense of humour. Want me to ask them?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Taking Louis’ hand, Harry led him back over to the crowd of guys, which provoked a lot of silly wolf-whistling. Rolling his eyes, Harry snorted, squeezed Louis’ hand, and then said “Any of you pricks been messing with my boyfriend?”

“Wrong team,” Dan said immediately, and laughter rippled through the group.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Who prank-called him?”

The group of guys blinked at him.

“What?” Dan asked eventually.

His grin fading slightly, Harry repeated “Who prank-called him? I can take a joke, guys, but seriously. Don’t do it again. It’s weird.”

“Harry, what on earth are you talking about?” asked Otis, one of the other guys.

Laughing shakily, Harry said “Someone rang Louis? Breathing down the phone? I don’t know if you were trying to be funny, but making sexual noises at my boyfriend is  _my_  job.”

“Nobody called him, Harry,” Dan said slowly.

“But…” Harry was struggling to understand. “ _Someone_ must have. It wasn’t me!”

“Pocket dial?” Otis suggested.

Harry shook his head. “How does that work? How would he have heard just _breathing_ if I pocket dialled him from  _here_? You guys make enough noise to wake the dead!” But he fished his phone out of his pocket just to check. Glancing worriedly at Louis, he said faintly “Battery’s dead.”

Anxiously, Louis ran his hand through his hair. “Odd.” He looked uneasy.

“It’s probably nothing,” Harry reassured him with a slightly forced smile. “Wrong number?”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed weakly. “Probably.”

Turning away from the watching group of men, Harry tapped his elbow gently. “Hey. Stop looking so worried. And get your arse back into work! You’re going to be late.”

Louis pouted. “Nah. I’m on lunch break. They won’t miss me for another half hour yet.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Liar. I used to  _live_  at Stonehaven, remember? Your lunch break only lasts forty five minutes, and it started half an hour ago. It’ll take you a good ten minutes to walk back – so you’ll be cutting it close, even if you start walking right away. Get moving, Tomlinson. I don’t want you getting sacked.  _One_ of us needs paid work.”

Pulling a sulky face, Louis leaned forwards, pushing his lips outwards, clearly asking for a kiss. “I can be a few minutes late,” he said.

“No, you can’t,” Harry argued, placing restraining hands on his shoulders. “Go. Now.”

Louis frowned.

“Look,” Harry murmured, leaning closer, “if you go now, I’ll let you analyse me tonight, okay?”

Sniggers swept through the listening men, but neither of them paid any attention to that.

Delightedly, Louis asked “Really?”

“Yeah. And I won’t even moan if you tell me I’m a paranoid delusional like you did last time.”

His face lighting up, Louis smashed his mouth enthusiastically against Harry’s in a rough, eager kiss, fingers stroking through his curls as he moved his lips in order to communicate his gratitude. It took a few seconds of slow breathing and slight swaying as they clung to each other before Louis eventually disentangled himself and wiped his swollen mouth with the back of his hand, expression apologetic but eyes dancing with too much amusement to make him look remotely remorseful. Harry tutted heavily and patted him on the back.

“Get moving, you, before I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back,” Louis accused, “you don’t break promises.”

“There’s always a first time,” Harry grumbled, “now  _move_.”

Louis obediently stepped out of range, his expression teasing as he started walking slowly backwards in the direction from which he had come, eyes glued to Harry’s. Unwillingly amused, Harry made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat as he gestured with his fingers for Louis to move further away.

“Face the way you’re walking. You do realize I have to clean this road? I don’t want to have to scrape your guts off it.”

Dutifully turning round, Louis ambled off down the street without another glance, and Harry waited until his lover had turned the corner before he turned back to the wall and retrieved his brush, and started sweeping the ground with scarlet ears.

“ _Analyse_ you?” Dan asked sceptically.

Harry blushed. “It’s not as sordid as it sounds. He likes to, uh…psychoanalyse me, you know. Assess my mental health. I don’t know what he gets out of it, but to each their own, I suppose. If he gets his kicks out of it, who am I to deny him?”

“Sounds weird to me.”

“Well, you don’t have to go through it, do you?” Harry snapped perhaps a little too sharply.

He wasn’t entirely sure what Louis’ fascination was with psychoanalysis, but when they were alone together, Louis liked to sit quietly with him, hold his hand and ask him questions, until he could be completely sure to the extent of his training that there was absolutely nothing wrong with Harry’s mental state at all, until he had drawn every last private thought from Harry’s mind and decided that they were all perfectly sane – and then he would proudly kiss Harry on the forehead and assure him with deep satisfaction that he was completely normal, with no underlying mental troubles at all. The joy on Louis’ face, and the content that came with it, was something that made Harry ridiculously happy.

Taking a deep breath, Harry said “I guess that’s what comes with being engaged to a psychiatrist.”

“Yeah,” Otis agreed. “You two are cute together, man. What’s that thing those teenage fangirls say? …’I ship it’.” He chuckled.

“I believe it’s something along those lines,” Harry said with humour.

Dan tutted. “Come on, quit gossiping, ladies. Get back to work. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you and Lou can get to your kinky psychiatric role play.” He waggled his eyebrows at Harry.

“ _Role play_ ,” Harry scoffed, “it’s his  _job_.”

Winking, Otis teased, “Of course, Harry…of course.”

Playfully poking him with the broom handle, Harry turned back to the street and started brushing at the rubbish on the street again. He shook his head amusedly. _‘Kinky psychiatric role play’._ Honestly!


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey, gorgeous!” Harry called as he opened the door of the flat and stepped inside, a huge grin on his face.

There was no reply, and at first he thought that perhaps Louis wasn’t home, but the blazing lights spoke for themselves. Wondering why the door had been locked, Harry took a step forwards, and was alerted to the sound of crumpling paper underneath his foot.

 Looking down, he felt his heart give a horrible lurch as he blinked at the envelope he had just stepped on. Slowly, as if in some kind of awful trance, he picked up the stark white paper that had his name scrawled on it in vaguely familiar clumsy handwriting, and he flipped it over in an instant, ripping it open with a horrible pang of dread.

Ugly, crude words typed in a hideous font greeted him starkly, and he shuddered as he looked down at them in horror.

**And you can’t hide.**

Harry felt sick. He scrunched the paper up in his fist.

“Lou?” he called weakly.

“In here,” came the faint, nervous reply from the kitchen.

Walking blankly forwards, he stepped into the room. Louis was sat on one of the kitchen chairs, hunched over the table with his fingers twisted in his hair and an agitated expression on his face. In front of him on the worktop was a torn white envelope, and a piece of paper with a similar short, malevolent sentence typed on it. Looking up, Louis shoved the sheet across the surface at Harry, who picked it up and read it with horror twisting his stomach.

**You can’t run.**

Wordlessly placing his own message on the counter, Harry looked fearfully at the two notes side by side.

**You can’t run. And you can’t hide.**

“What do we do, Harry?” Louis asked.

Harry stood behind him, putting his arms around Louis’ waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

“The messages, the phone calls…Harry, what do we  _do_?”

“I don’t  _know_!” Harry buried his neck in Louis’ shoulder. “I need to think.”

“Harry, they know where we live!”

“I know that!”

“They know what you did!”

“I know that too!” Harry swore and closed his eyes.

“We can’t let this slide. This is harassment. We have to call the police.” Louis reached for his phone.

“No!” Harry grabbed his hand. “We  _can’t_. That’ll only make things  _worse_. The police never do anything. We’ll only live to regret it.”

“What  _should_ we do, then?”

“I could take him out,” Harry said calmly.

“ _What_?”

His voice was cool and calculating; the voice of a boy who had killed before. “I could go looking for him. I could do it right now. He’d be out of our lives for good. We’d be safe…”

“Harry, no!” Louis twisted in his chair and shoved Harry violently backwards. Seconds later, he was scrambling out of his chair and facing up to Harry with a terrified and angry expression. “ _No._ Don’t you dare. Do you hear me, Styles? Don’t. You.  _Dare._ ” He punctuated every word by poking Harry hard in the chest.

“I could do it,” Harry said softly. “I’ve killed before. I could find him…”

“Don’t make me slap you!” Louis threatened.

“I could make it look like an accident,” Harry mused…

There was a harsh snap as Louis drew his hand back and slapped Harry hard across the face, his head jerking with the force of the impact. The flat of his hand burning, Louis grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him, hard.

“Are you insane? What the hell are you thinking? Do you want to get locked up again? Do you care about me at all? I’m being serious about this!”

Harry met his gaze unflinchingly, his left cheek slowly starting to flame bright red. “I would do it, you know,” he said softly. “If you asked me to…if I even  _thought_  you wanted me to. If I had the slightest feeling that you wanted me to go out there and take care of him, I wouldn’t still be standing here. I’d be out there, and I’d  _hunt him down_.” His voice was frighteningly calm; it made Louis shiver. “I don’t know if I’d make it back – but I’d kill him stone dead. I’d keep you safe. You’d never have to worry about him again.”

“Harry, listen to me.” Louis grabbed his face and held it. “I do  _not_ want you to kill anyone. I don’t even want you to try. I don’t even want you to so much as poke someone with a stick! If you had to go back to prison…I couldn’t live without you, Harry. Promise me that you won’t do it?”

“I promise,” Harry replied in an instant. He took a deep breath. “But…if I’m not going to kill him, what  _are_ we going to do?”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Louis. He dodged neatly around Harry and started rummaging in a drawer for the telephone directory. “We’re going to call a locksmith.”

“What good would that do?”

“Well,” Louis said patiently, “if they have a key – which I doubt, but still – then they’ll be screwed, won’t they? Even if they don’t, the lock we have at the moment leaves a lot to be desired. I’ve picked it myself with a paperclip before now, when I locked myself out once. I’d feel far more secure with a  _decent_ lock.”

Harry ended up curled up on the sofa with an arm wrapped around his knees, watching old episodes of The Inbetweeners with a stiff expression on his face, while Louis kept up a conversation with the locksmith – who was a little bit too friendly for Harry’s liking. At more than one point he was sorely tempted to throw the man out for flirting so outrageously with Louis, but he figured he’d perhaps better wait until  _after_ the guy had put the lock back on the door. Still, as the minutes ticked by, and progress on fixing the lock seemed to go more and more slowly, Harry found himself casting suspicious glances at the chattering locksmith. Louis was bantering back with ease, but that was just  _Louis_ ; that was his thing. Flirtation was something that came naturally to him. So Harry wasn’t worried about  _Louis_ flirting, it was the other guy who was getting on his nerves.

By the time the man was working out how much they owed him with what Harry thought was unnecessary precision, Harry decided he’d had enough. Pausing the DVD, he got up and went across the room to put an arm around Louis’ waist in a very definite possessive gesture, hoping that with his untidy hair, pale, sharp face, dark circles under his eyes and tense expression, he looked imposing. Judging by the smirk on the locksmith’s face, he didn’t. At all.

“Don’t you worry,” he said, fondly patting the door, “this is the best security lock on the market. It’d take a small nuclear bomb to get through that.” Slyly looking at Harry, he continued “maybe your boyfriend can get some sleep now.”

“Thanks!” Louis said brightly. “You want to stay for a coffee or something? I was just about to put the kettle on. You want one, Harry?”

“Actually, Lou, I kind of wanted to talk to you,” Harry interrupted, “in private.” He drew Louis closer to him with a swift jerk.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to it,” smiled the locksmith. He was perfectly friendly, but there was something about him that Harry  _hated._ He handed Louis the new keys to the flat and then left, nodding politely as he closed the door behind him.

The moment he was gone, Harry was snatching the keys and locking the man out with a scowl on his face. Seeming surprised by the rapidity with which Harry sealed them both in, Louis tapped him on the hip.

“He seemed nice,” he commented.

“He was a sleaze ball,” Harry contradicted, tapping the keys against the wood.

“What? He was great!”

“He was flirting with you,” Harry said darkly, and then blushed when he realized how pathetic that had sounded.

Louis chuckled and turned away as he headed for the kitchen. “He probably was. What of it?”

“That’s  _my_  job,” Harry half whined as he followed him.

“Anyone would think you were jealous or something,” Louis said amusedly. He looked just a bit too pleased by the thought.

“Well, there’s no need to enjoy it quite so much,” Harry grumbled. “I don’t see what was so good about that guy. Slick patter and too much hair gel.”

“I do love the face you get when you’re jealous,” Louis commented as he found them each a mug.

“I was  _not_ jealous!” Harry insisted. “I just didn’t like him.”

“Whatever you say.” Louis shook his head with a smile. “Hair gel or no hair gel, I’ve already got a man in my life. He’s funny, he’s cute, he’s clever, he’s a flirt, he’s a little bit taller than me, he’s sexy and dangerous, and hotter than hot sauce on fire. He’s wonderful.” Louis tilted his head on one side. “And he’s standing right in front of me.”

Harry kissed him, because – well, it needed to be done.


	7. Chapter 7

In all his time working in a prison, Louis had never once gotten a scratch. Oh, he’d _seen_ his fair share of bust ups, from playful whacks to full-on fights – and he’d seen the boy he loved have his face rearranged in a prison skirmish. So he knew exactly what could go on when you were in a building with about a hundred angry, bored, angsty men with very little constructive outlet. Sometimes it was accidental; he’d seen Liam turn up with a bloody lip once after a prisoner had accidentally head-butted him in the face, and the offender had been distraught at hurting Liam, who everyone saw as a mate – but the fact was that it happened. And Louis had to be on the receiving end of it some time.

He ought to have known that inviting Zayn and his ex-cellmate Tom into his office at the same time to ‘resolve their differences’ wouldn’t end well.

Since Niall’s departure, Zayn had spiralled into a lonely, moody cycle of depression which very few people could pull him out of, even for a moment. The Irish boy had been drawing Zayn out of his shell, and in his absence, Zayn had withdrawn back into it and become quiet and reclusive, worrying all of his friends and relatives. Tom and Zayn had once been very close, and so Louis had brought them together in a valiant attempt to re-establish the broken friendship. Perhaps it was an unwise decision, bearing in mind that he had no idea why they had ever begun a feud, but he felt that if there was one thing Zayn needed, it was a friend. His cell was lonely without the snoring and Irish banter.

“Come on, you guys,” he encouraged, “you were mates once!”

“Yeah,” Tom said darkly, “and that ship has sailed. Newsflash: I hate him.”

“I hate you too,” Zayn said instantly.

“Hey, hey, that’s not helping!”

“I think it is, actually,” Zayn disagreed. “Tom, you’re a –”

He spouted a stream of insults and Tom responded in kind, and Louis’ mouth fell open as he listen to the exchange of swearwords and abuse that the two men were directing at each other. At first his natural love of observation caused him to hang open-mouthed onto every word, fingers itching to scribble down every detail of the screaming match – but when his instincts started telling him that the two men were getting aggressive, he realized that he had perhaps better intervene.

He realized just a little too late that Zayn and Tom were beyond intervention.

“Guys, come on –” he interrupted, stepping between them just as the pale but heavily muscled caramel-haired Tom lunged to plant a punch on Zayn’s jaw.

The blow landed squarely on Louis’ nose, there was a horrible crunch, and then Louis yelped and clamped his hand over his nose. It had  _not_ been a soft punch. Red spurted through his fingers and they all stared at him in abject horror.

“Tom, you twat!” Zayn hissed.

“ _Me_? What did  _I_  do?”

“You punched him! He’s bleeding!”

“He got in the way!”

“Yeah, well now  _you’re_ going to get in the way – of the exit, when I chuck your dead body out of the door!” Zayn yelled, and then he swept Louis to the side and dived at Tom.

Quickly realizing that his experiment had not been a success, Louis dodged around them, one hand still pressed against his face with his fingers swiftly growing stickier and redder by the second, and then he scrambled underneath the table and slammed his hand down on the little yellow button he had never expected to use.

There were no alarms, no sirens, and nothing changed – Zayn and Tom continued grappling on the floor with loud yells, curses and the sound of punches hitting their mark, and for a moment, Louis thought in a panic that perhaps the little yellow button had broken from lack of use. But just as he was cowering under the table with this horrifying thought running through his mind, the door burst open and Liam rushed in, flanked by John and Dean. It took them a nanosecond to analyse the scene before the two brawling men were wrenched apart, and soon the reassuring snap of handcuffs and yells of protest was filling the room. Taking a deep breath, Liam scanned the room, looking for the psychiatrist who owned it.

“Louis?”

“Is it safe to come out?” Louis asked in a muffled voice, poking his head above the desk.

Liam choked back a laugh, then spotted the blood on Louis’ hand and suddenly it wasn’t as funny anymore. “Yes, it’s safe. Are you okay?”

“Oh, it’s just a scratch,” Louis said dismissively, waving his hand airily. Blood dripped from his nose and into his mouth, and he spat it out in disgust, making Liam leap back.

“Ugh! No offence, but you should get something on that.”

“Harry’s going to flip,” Louis sighed as Zayn was hauled from the room.

“Do you want me to call him?”

“No,” Louis said wearily, “but he’ll flip even more if you don’t, so I suppose you better had.”

Liam chuckled as he helped Louis from behind his desk and then they slowly made their way to the main staff room.

According to Liam, in the absence of alcohol, the best thing for shock was coffee and biscuits – both of which Louis had plenty of in his office. He pointed this out in protest, but, as Liam reminded him, everything tastes better when it belongs to someone else, so Louis ended up sat in a chair sipping filter coffee and expensive biscuits while Liam cheerfully told him the story of  _his_ first fight, when a guy called Jonas had broken Liam’s nose after Liam had told him he had to take a shower when he was halfway through winning a game of cards with one of the other prisoners. Louis was enjoying himself so much that he forgot that Harry had been sent for – so he had made no attempt to clean up at all, and when Harry walked in Louis was sat with blood still smeared across his face.

“ _Louis_!” Harry cried.

Jumping guiltily, Louis instantly reached for the ice pack he had abandoned on the table and held it over his nose, as if hiding it would mean that Harry hadn’t seen it in the first place. Instantly, Harry crossed the room, confiscated Louis’ coffee, gently tugged the ice pack out of his fingers and carefully tilted his head back, examining the dried blood on his nose, lips and chin with a worried look on his face.

“What have you been  _doing_?” Harry said wretchedly. “You need to take more care of yourself.”

Louis impatiently swatted his hand away. “It was just a nosebleed.”

“Yeah, like they’d call me to come and fetch you over a nosebleed. Tell me the truth. Liam?” Harry turned to Liam in exasperation.

“There was a bit of a scuffle,” Liam said, wisely toning the story down a bit, “and Tom belted Louis in the nose.”

“He did  _what_?” Harry demanded in outrage.

Realizing he hadn’t toned it down  _enough_ , Liam quickly backtracked. “Um…well, uh, I mean he didn’t  _belt_ him, he kind of, uh…”

Louis stood up and grabbed Harry’s arm. “I tried to get Zayn and Tom to make friends, they weren’t having any of it, and they started a fight in the middle of my office,” he said. “I got in the way, that’s all. Nobody  _meant_ to punch me.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry buried his face in his hands. “Don’t tell me anymore,” was his muffled plea. “I’m serious. I don’t think I can take it.”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Louis said quickly, noticing Harry’s shaking shoulders and angry red ears as a danger sign. “I’m all right, love. I’m fine.” He stepped a little closer and started soothingly rubbing Harry’s back in wide circles, trying to reassure him.

“Don’t be  _brave_ , that only makes it worse,” Harry groaned.

“I think we’d better go home,” Louis said anxiously. “It’s not good for you, getting all wound up like this.”

“Not good for me?  _Me_? For God’s sake, Louis, get some perspective! It’s  _you_ who needs looking after! Could you not start putting yourself first for  _five_ minutes? Argh!” Harry grabbed two handfuls of hair in frustration.

“It’s a bloody nose, Harry; I’m hardly at death’s door,” Louis said dryly, but he pulled Harry against his hip and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“You don’t mind if Louis comes home with me now, do you?” Harry asked, throwing Liam a pleading glance. “I think he’s kind of shaken up by the whole thing.”

In Liam’s opinion, Louis wasn’t the  _least_ bit shaken up – he’d consumed enough coffee and biscuits for fifty people, and been quite happy to have a chat. Still, for the sake of Harry’s sanity, and the curly hair that he was slowly in the process of tearing out, Liam agreed to cover for Louis, and then the two of them were leaving the prison and getting into the Porsche – which Harry had recently been insured to drive.

“There is literally  _no_ need for you to drive. I’m fine!” Louis complained.

“You didn’t buy me all those driving lessons for nothing, Boo,” Harry said lightly, “might as well put them to good use.” He turned out of the car-park and soon they were speeding away, at a speed which Louis thought was unnecessarily fast – an unusual thing for him to think. Then he started thinking about  _why_ they were leaving so quickly, and he felt a twinge of guilt.

“I know it can’t have been easy for you to come back here.”

“I’m not a child. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It’s just  _weird_ , that’s all, being this side of the bars.” But Harry’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and Louis squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

“Are you okay, Harry?”

“I’m always okay.”

Louis looked at the way Harry’s shoulders were hunched underneath the ugly luminous orange jacket, the soft trembling of his body as he switched gears, and the forced stiffness of his expression as he forced his face to remain neutral – and he knew that one, Harry had just lied to him, and two, he had obviously lost his talent for controlling his body language, because there was a time when Harry would have been able to fool Louis into thinking that maybe he  _was_ okay, and now he wasn’t fooling anyone. Unless it was just because Louis knew him so well.

When they got home, the only frightening letter on the doorstep was the gas bill, which almost made Louis pass out in horror. Harry spent forty-five minutes very carefully dabbing at Louis’ nose with damp cotton wool until there wasn’t a speck of blood left on his face, then he was forced to change into one of Harry’s shirts and sit in the kitchen while Harry cooked. Louis taste-tested and simultaneously rang the gas company to complain about how much the price of the gas had gone up, ended up having an argument with the automated system and when an actual person got on the line, Louis yelled at her for a good ten minutes until she panicked and hung up on him. After that Louis lost his appetite and sat grumpily pushing the food around his plate with his fork while Harry looked worriedly at him from the other side of the table, obviously worried that the light thump on the nose had done some kind of serious damage.

The rest of the evening proceeded with at least some level of normality. Louis washed up, as was part of the deal of Harry cooking – even though Harry tried to insist that he take over washing up duty that night, as Louis was still ‘in shock’. Louis ignored him. Harry rang his mum, then his sister, and was halfway through ringing his dad as well when he realized that the phone bill might have gone up as well and dropped the phone like it had burned him.

“You can ring your parents, for God’s sake,” Louis said irritably.

“It’s okay, I’ll call them tomorrow.”

“Harry.”

“It’s not fair that I make no contribution to the bills and yet I keep making them higher.”

“Don’t be daft; it’s not  _your_ fault the gas bill went up.”

“It could be.”

“Harry, we used the exact same amount of gas as last month. They’ve increased the price. Unless you secretly work for British Gas, I fail to see how that could be your fault.”

“I’ll call them tomorrow,” Harry said, and he went and sat on the couch.

Silence fell for a while, and Louis hated it. He sat beside Harry and pulled Harry’s head onto his lap, and for a while he massaged Harry’s curls, enjoying the soft tug of hair through his fingers. He almost thought he enjoyed it more than Harry did – although the small smile on Harry’s face, the occasional helpless sighs he couldn’t hold back, and the way he wriggled backwards and cuddled closer against Louis as they lay still made Louis change his mind. He wondered what was running through Harry’s mind, and as he smoothed Harry’s forehead with careful fingers, brushing away the frown lines brought on by anxiety, he murmured “What are you thinking?”

“Lots of things I probably shouldn’t be,” Harry answered, his smile widening.

“Like what?”

“Like…that you’re wearing far too many clothes…and that I quite like what you’re doing with my hair…and that I’d happily let you do far more than that, but really, every night this week…we may be young, we may have stamina, and we may have had an awful lot of time without…erm…any  _physical_ relationship…but I really am quite tired. So I’m trying not to let myself think about any of those things.”

Louis chuckled and brushed his fingertips against Harry’s jaw. “Teenagers. You’re all so horny.”

“You’ve never complained before,” Harry muttered.

“Oh, that wasn’t a complaint,” Louis assured him. His hands found the waistband of Harry’s jeans, and started tugging at them. Harry yelped.

“What are you  _doing_?”

“Your bum is falling out of your trousers, dear,” Louis said mildly, “it’s very distracting.”

“Do you really have to do that? It’s not helping the whole not-doing-anything situation!”

“I wouldn’t have to, if you didn’t have your pants halfway down your backside. It’s very unattractive, you know.”

Harry wriggled uncomfortably as Louis jerked his jeans even further upwards, and a noise escaped him that was halfway between a sigh and a groan of defeat. His hands found Louis’ hands and grabbed them, holding them still.

“I, uh…” he said faintly. “I think…maybe we’ll have a rest from bedroom activities…another night.”

Seeming pleased by the effect he was having, Louis chuckled and said “Not likely. You may be up to it, but  _I’m_ tired.” Pushing Harry off his lap, he amusedly kissed him on the forehead and vanished into their bedroom.

With a frustrated groan, Harry shook his head and reached for the TV remote.

It didn’t take Louis long to strip off and get his pyjamas on, and he had just slid into bed when an outraged cry burst from the living room.

“Louis, you twat, did you block the porn channel?”

Laughing to himself, Louis wriggled down further underneath the duvet, pulling it up to his chin. “Just protecting your innocence, darling,” he called, “don’t want to damage you mentally. Besides, I’m the jealous type and the only arse I want you staring at is  _mine_.”


	8. Chapter 8

Louis awoke to find a glaring Harry leaning over him. He grinned up at the curly haired boy, and Harry biffed him across the chest in indignation, giving him one of the worst looks Louis had ever seen in his life.

“Have you put a  _child filter_ on the internet?” he demanded.

The duvet was wrapped like a cocoon around Louis and his arms had been around his pillow, which he had been drooling on. He had recently relaxed enough to start wearing his ‘dinosaur jammies’ in bed at night, something which Harry saw as an indication of trust; he made a point of never laughing at the sight of his older boyfriend wearing bright blue pyjamas with hundreds of little green dinosaurs  on them. Reaching to mess with Harry’s curls Louis smiled sleepily as he tried to shake himself awake, and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Accusingly waving his laptop charger in Louis’ face, Harry repeated “ _Child filter_?”

Choking back a laugh, Louis said in amusement, “Like I didn’t know you’d try that next.”

“It blocked me from watching  _The Inbetweeners Movie_  on the i-player,” Harry whined.

“You have the box-set, Harry; I really don’t think you  _need_ to watch the movie. Again.”

Displeased, Harry scowled at him.

Still grinning, Louis sat up and reached for his watch to check the time. “Damn! I’m going to be late. Could you go shopping for me, honey? I know it’s your day off, but you’re already awake, and –”

Harry cut him off. “I’ll go shopping on two conditions: one,  _never_ call me ‘honey’ again. And two, later we  _will_ be discussing this ridiculous child-filter on the TV and the internet.”

“Fine, we’ll discuss it, but don’t expect me to reconsider. Your annoyance is just _too_ funny, it’ll take a lot more than doing the weekly shop to make me change my mind about that,” Louis chuckled.

Pouting, Harry sighed “Ugh, all  _right_. Get dressed. I’ll make you breakfast. Then you can drop me off at Sainsburys on your way to work.”

 *  *  *  *  *  *

Harry happily trundled his trolley around Sainsburys, reading everything on the list Louis had given him, and disregarding most of it with a snort. He wondered how Louis had ever coped without having him around – his shopping list looked like it had been written by a five year old. The writing was fine; Louis’ handwriting was normal for his age, but the content was ridiculous. Rolling his eyes, Harry ignored the request for chocolate ice cream and four boxes of chicken nuggets, replacing them with the far healthier options of strawberry cheesecake and fish fingers. Louis was like a lanky, sexy toddler.

After a while, he grew bored of wandering around aisles on his own, and started wishing that Louis had come with him. Shopping trips with Louis were always hilarious. Louis sneaked unnecessary items into the trolley, like biscuits and plastic toys and lots of things with fancy packaging, and Harry sighed good-naturedly and take them out again, and replace them with more sensible things, like salad and fabric conditioner. They had playful arguments and mock-wrestling matches in the middle of the aisles, and threw things at each other, and came close to knocking over giant toilet-roll pyramids as they chased each other round the store. Every mother’s worst nightmare was their child being run down by Harry and Louis with an out of control trolley at their disposal, and every staff member in Sainsburys heaved a sigh of relief when they had safely steered the couple clear of the automatic doors.

Harry headed for the checkout and paid for his items. Avoiding the advances of the orange girl on the till, who looked like an Oompa Loompa and had false eyelashes that looked like dead spiders clinging to her eyes, he staggered out of the store laden with orange carrier bags the colour of the girl’s fake tan, and caught the bus home.

 He staggered across the car park and was buzzed into the lobby of the block of flats. It took him a few minutes of struggling before he could slip his pass-card out of his pocket to swipe it and get through the doorway to the main stairs, and he was just about to head through the door when a voice behind him made him pause.

“Wait a moment, Harry.”

Turning around, Harry found himself face to face with the doorman, Ian, a man with an unfortunate lack of hair but a great personality to make up for it. Harry grinned.

“Hey, Ian. You okay?”

“I need a word,” Ian said, and he steered Harry towards his ‘inner sanctum’ – in other words, behind the desk.

“Uh, okay,” was Harry’s uncertain reply as Ian reached into the drawer and pulled out a bulging notebook.

Flipping a few pages, Ian announced “You’re going to have to sign the vandalism book, I’m afraid. We won’t charge you anything, but there’s going to be an awful lot of forms to fill out.” He tutted. “Lousy kids. No offence, like; I know it isn’t you. But honestly! Can they not find something better to do than scrawl their stupid tags all over the walls?”

Blinking, Harry made a vague noise.

“You should probably come check it out,” Ian offered sympathetically.

He led Harry upstairs, all the way up to the front door of the flat, both of them breathing heavily at the exertion – especially Harry, laden as he was with heavy carrier bags. Once they had reached the top, Harry let go of his bags and rolled his shoulders, massaging his hands with a grim expression and examining the red marks left by the plastic. Marching ahead, Ian turned back to look at Harry, and gestured  grandly at the wood. Harry’s eyes drifted to the door – and then he did a double take, and stared in shock at the markings that someone had painstakingly made on his and Louis’ front door. It wasn’t the idea of the graffiti itself that horrified him; it was more the content, the display…there was no threatening message, no menacing comments, nothing that anyone other than Harry, Louis or an ex-Whitehall prisoner would understand…but it was terrifying. Harry’s heart had stopped.

Nodding disapprovingly, Ian examined the graffiti on the door, looking disgusted. He tapped the streaky paint, too absorbed to notice that Harry had frozen, the colour leeching from his face as he started to tremble, his mouth falling open. While Ian carefully traced the marks with one long finger, Harry grabbed at the wall for support, knees wobbling, eyes wide as he looked at the carefully painted ‘W’ sprayed on the door, the scarlet paint that had started to run, but still clearly formed a letter, with a familiar pattern spiralling around it. He was paralysed with shock, his vision blurring as his mind went blank with sheer panic, because despite the amount of time since he’d seen it, the Whitehall Prison logo was permanently burned into his memory – and now his door – and he didn’t think it would ever fade.

One thing that  _was_ faint was the sound of Ian’s voice as he rambled on. “Weird, this. Just a letter. It’s no tag mark that I recognise… look familiar to you, Harry?”

“No,” Harry lied weakly, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice.

Tutting, the doorman scratched at the wood with one fingernail, attempting to scrape the paint off with a sour expression. “I’ll get some paint-stripper or something. Nothing I’ve done so far has worked; it’s good paint, unfortunately…they weren’t cheap, whoever they were. I wish I knew who it was.” He looked frustrated. “But I’ll help you lads to paint over it, okay? When I next have a spare minute on my hands. You’re good guys, you and Lou. I’ll help you when I can.”

“Thanks,” Harry managed. “I…yeah. Thanks.”

Patting him on the back, Ian promised “I’ll get it sorted for you, mate. Don’t you worry.” Then he turned and ambled back down the corridor, leaving a shaking Harry to drag his carrier bags over the threshold of his desecrated door and slam it behind him, locking himself safely in.

 

He instantly scanned the flat, checking that nothing was out of place. Luckily, everything seemed to be as he and Louis had left it: untidy. There were leftover breakfast plates strewn across the kitchen counter, a blanket thrown across the sofa that he had been lying on the night before, shoes littered across the hall…and a thankful lack of ominous envelopes. Weak at the knees with relief, but still filled with dread, Harry fumbled for his phone and dragged it out of his pocket, his shaking fingers flying across the keypad as he followed blind instinct and called the person who he knew would do everything in his power to protect him. He loathed to put Louis in danger, and to make him as afraid as Harry was, but truthfully, he needed someone to hold him. Tears spurted uncontrollably down his face and he swatted impatiently at them.

“Come on! Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he muttered desperately, drumming his fingers manically against the back of the phone.

 

At first, he thought that Louis wasn’t going to pick up, and he had a few problems swallowing for several tense seconds – but then, to his immense relief, the ringing stopped, there was a click as Louis answered, and then he was speaking, his cheerful voice making Harry tingle slightly with longing even through his fear.

“Hello, this is the National STI Clinic, how may I be of help?” Louis said wickedly – but he couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of his voice at the silly joke.

In less dire circumstances, Harry might have laughed; after all, Louis knew it was him, and he knew Harry wasn’t going to fall for it, but Harry had played that same trick on him before, and more than once, so he couldn’t really complain. But Harry was in no mood for messing around, and before he could stop them, his tears welled over and all of a sudden he was incoherently babbling with a fountain of rubbish pouring out of his mouth, and tears streaming uncontrollably as he sobbed down the phone with a complete lack of self-restraint.

“Harry?” Louis asked in alarm. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

Great. So now he had made Louis panic, and it didn’t seem likely that he would be able to stop crying and explain any time soon. Hanging on to the phone, Harry managed a few weeping words like ‘door’ and ‘paint’ and ‘Whitehall’, which didn’t exactly help to calm Louis down.

“Harry, what the hell is going on?” Louis demanded, sounding slightly scared.

Obviously, Harry was hyperventilating too hard to respond.

 

Thankfully, it only took Louis a few seconds before his psychiatric training kicked in, and he automatically took control of the situation. “Harry. Harry! Listen to me, Harry. Are you listening? Harry,  _calm down_.”

“But I – we – you – and they – and the door – and the – and –” Harry gasped.

“Harry! Please. Deep breaths. In and out, okay.” Louis sucked in and then moronically puffed outwards like an inexperienced teenage smoker.

Attempting to copy him, Harry got a fit of hysterical giggles and had to clap his hand over his mouth. It took him a few minutes to stop laughing and start breathing instead, and he was still crying as he gasped for breath.

“You’re okay,” Louis promised. “You’re okay. Everything’s fine. Come on, deep breaths. Relax, okay? Everything is all right.”

“ _Nothing_  is all right,” Harry corrected harshly, and took a deep, shuddering gasp inwards.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Louis commanded.

Mindlessly, Harry obeyed. He blurted out the whole story of the menacing graffiti and what it meant and who he thought had left it, and how it proved that clearly their harassers knew their exact address and had not just been leaving the envelopes on the main reception. He told Louis everything, including how terrified he was, and even though he knew that, despite being gay, Louis couldn’t wave a pink glittery fairy wand and make everything okay again – but maybe he could make Harry feel better. A problem shared  _wasn’t_ a problem halved, not by a long shot, but by having someone to hold his hand, whether physically or metaphorically, he felt reassured.

 

“Right,” Louis said, the moment Harry had finished his tearful tale, “I’m coming home. Don’t let anybody into the house. Just wait for me, okay?”

“How will you get out? Will you fake a family emergency?” Harry asked faintly.

Louis said firmly “This  _is_ a family emergency.” He hung up.

 

*  *  *  *  *  *

 

Louis could barely slide the key into the lock with his hands trembling so badly. He was unbelievably frustrated every time his hand slipped and he had to watch the key scratching against the stained wood as he missed, and at one point he nearly yelled in anger – but that wouldn’t do much for Harry’s nerves, so taking a deep, calm breath, he steadied himself, held the doorframe with one hand, and then carefully unlocked the door and let himself in.

 

The flat was unnaturally quiet, with not a sound betraying that any other human was there, but Louis could clearly see the bags that Harry had left abandoned in the hallway, and he had kicked his shoes off the moment he had got inside, which was an automatic habit of his. Knowing only too well that fear could make people lash out, Louis quickly secured the lock and sealed them both in again, then cautiously turned and surveyed the room for any sign of danger before he carefully placed his keys on the worktop and slipped his own shoes off so that there wouldn’t be any unnecessary noise. Next, he slipped off his jacket, neatly folding it and dropping it over the back of the nearest chair. As soon as he was stood barefoot in nothing but Chinos and a red plaid shirt, he ran a hand through his hair and prepared to go and comfort the boy he was in love with. 

 

“Harry,” he called, making it a statement, not a question. Any uncertainty would make Harry uneasy, and that was something he didn’t want. “Harry, I’m home.”

Not so much as a whimper betrayed the curly haired boy’s whereabouts, and Louis almost cursed the fact that Harry was so good at hiding. He’d always had formidable self-control – at least when he wasn’t caught unawares. In his first moments of panic, Harry was almost impossible to subdue, but if he had a moment to work up to it, you’d need an army of attackers trained in torture to get one word out of him that he wasn’t willing to say. Even a syllable. Harry was silent, and when it came to finding out where he was, in the absence of a sniffer-dog, Louis was helpless.

“Harry!” he attempted again.

No reply rewarded his efforts, and so, with a sigh, Louis rubbed his eyes wearily and started to search the flat. There was no unruly mop of curls cowering underneath the kitchen table, and no lanky body lying flattened against the bottom of the bathtub. Nobody hid behind the curtains in the living room or crouched underneath the sofa, and there wasn’t a hint of anyone being anywhere in the flat at all. It was only when Louis slumped with a groan onto their bed and felt the mattress sink and then pause as it came into resistance with something underneath, that he discovered Harry. Poking his head over the side, he peered underneath the bed and found Harry curled up in a ball with the back of his hand covering his mouth, presumably to disguise any sounds of breathing.

“Harry!” Louis said in surprise. “What are you doing, hiding from me?”

“It might not have been you,” Harry whispered.

“Who else would it be?” Louis asked.

Avoiding his gaze, Harry didn’t answer, and Louis wondered exactly what sorts of people Harry had expected to come bursting in. The answer was simple: unpleasant ones.

 

Sighing, Louis moved off the bed and slid underneath it, putting an arm around Harry’s shoulders. It was uncomfortably cramped and within seconds his muscles were screaming, disliking the confinement, but he ignored that. Harry was more important than a bit of discomfort, after all. In the darkness, his thumb found Harry’s cheek and stroked down it several times, and they both listened to the gentle sound of brushing skin in the darkness. That made Harry think of other, rather more intimate darkened situations, and his cheeks flamed as a blush crept through his face at the memory. Smiling fondly, Louis linked the fingers of his free hand with Harry’s, and shook his head slightly.

“I hate to see you so afraid.”

Not responding, Harry closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Nothing much you can do about that. I’m always afraid these days.”

“I wish I could help, Harry.”

Biting his lip, Harry said heavily “I’m not sure if  _anyone_ can help us anymore.”


	9. Chapter 9

For the next month, Harry and Louis lived in fear.

 

Barely a day went by without some form of threatening message, or a menacing, wordless phone-call from a withheld number, or one of their phones vibrating as unknown numbers sent them threatening texts reading ominous messages like  **I KNOW WHO U R** or  **U GONNA REGRET WHAT U DID BIGTIME** or  **WE R GOIN 2 GET U.** When Harry wasn’t bitterly complaining about the lack of correct spelling and irritating text-speak of their harassers, he was sat crying in corners. He was sent borderline hysterical when Louis went to work every morning, and more often than not, he would turn up during the day on the pretence of bringing something that Louis had ‘forgotten’, or that he didn’t really need. He commanded some of his more imposing community service mates to escort Louis home, and refused to be alone himself, constantly asking his mum, sister, friends, or combination of them to come to the flat. Both he and Louis stayed in the house whenever they could, doing most of their shopping on the internet and only leaving to work or discharge community debts. Yet somehow, being at home was sometimes worse – because their stalker clearly knew exactly where they lived. Harry didn’t feel safe anywhere. The only reason he preferred staying in was that the letters, graffiti and rubbish posted through the letterbox only arrived when they were out. The first time he had come home and stepped on a pile of old teabags, banana skins, broken glass and tin cans on the doorstep, he had cried. Especially when Louis cut himself on one of the rusty cans whilst trying to clear it all up, and had ended up going to hospital for a tetanus jab. Louis hated needles, and he passed out, which only made Harry more distressed. He felt ridiculously guilty, not helped by the fact that Louis was so sweet and understanding about the awful situation.

 

“It’s not your fault,” he assured Harry whenever Harry was too distraught and remorseful, and started sobbing hysterically and saying that maybe he should leave, and then they would leave Louis alone. “There’s some psychopaths in this world – I should know, I’ve met some of them. If we could chain these guys up and they’d let me at them, I’d have turned them into harmless, fluffy little kittens in a week.”

 

But then all of a sudden, things changed dramatically. They went from waking up three or four times a night because of threatening phone calls, being afraid to get the post in the morning, and having to constantly sweep up the rubbish fed through their door, to having…nothing. Strangely, the threats, the danger, the fear – it all stopped. Harry went from looking over his shoulder in fear to looking over his shoulder merely through force of habit. He was still reeling from the shock that the abuse had stopped, whilst Louis quickly began to rejoice, delighted that the danger had passed. Harry was adamant that they shouldn’t let their guard down, but Louis was so giddy with relief that he wouldn’t listen to Harry’s warnings.

“They’ve got bored!” he said delightedly. “I knew they would.”

Harry wasn’t so sure, but even he started to relax after the first few weeks of nothing. He stopped clinging to Louis so tightly at night that he left bruises. He stopped fearing for both of their lives. He didn’t, however, stop double-locking the door, even though he knew Louis didn’t always bother. There was no point in getting reckless.

 

 *  *  *  *  *  * 

 

“Evening!” Harry called as he swept through the door, tutting when he discovered that Louis had only locked the door once and not bothered to bolt it at all.

He rolled his eyes and stripped off his luminous orange jacket, stretching. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror in the hall, he let out a short laugh – his hair was soaked and plastered to his head with rain, there was a streak of dirt running down one cheek, and he was bright pink and bright-eyed from having spent the afternoon laughing. A smile had been an expression that he had been unused to wearing of late; both he and Louis were glad that Harry had his cheeky grin back again. Habitually checking the doormat for rubbish, which thankfully was not there, and sparing a sweeping glance on the table in the hall for a note, which also was not there, he smiled happily and kicked off his shoes as he took a step towards the kitchen.

“Oh Lou-ee,” he sang out, “I’m home!”

There was no reply, and Harry fondly shook his head as he dropped the jacket onto the floor. Louis would probably scold him for it later, but he didn’t much care. He was dirty and happy, and he wanted a shower. Come to think of it, he wanted _Louis_ to have a shower. At the same time as him. A wicked little smirk appeared on Harry’s lips as he considered the idea, and he took a few steps forwards, heading for the kitchen. He wondered if Louis had his headphones in and couldn’t hear him. Planning to slide loose arms around Louis’ waist and make him jump, Harry bit his lip to hold back a chuckle, then stepped cautiously forwards, trying not to make a sound.

“I’m coming to get you, Boo,” he murmured under his breath.

Padding along the polished wooden boards in his socks, a somewhat evil expression on his face, Harry licked his face as he snuck along the corridor, and carefully slid through the kitchen door. To his surprise, when he leapt into the room in preparation to ambush his boyfriend, the room was empty, and uncharacteristically tidy bearing in mind that Louis had spent the whole day at home. By all intents and purposes, the flat ought to have been a demolition zone.

Realizing that Louis was probably hiding somewhere close by and silently laughing at him while he stood there, Harry felt a gleeful expression slide across his face. The next door he threw himself at burst open to reveal the untidy living room, and he could clearly see the wrapper of a microwave meal sat on the table. Rolling his eyes, Harry sprinted for the sofa and leapt over the back of it at a height to be proud of, falling onto it with a yell of

“Come here, you sexy beast!”

To his shock, he didn’t land on a warm, laughing body, and no strong arms wound around him. There was no amused Louis waiting for him; he dropped onto a pile of cushions and a blanket, and seeing as there was nobody to grab him and stop his momentum, he kept falling, and rolled straight off the sofa, whacking his head painfully hard on the coffee table. Yelping in pain, Harry groaned and slowly sat up, looking around the room uncertainly.

“Boo?”

Odd. He would have thought that Louis would have come running at the sound of a thump and a yell. Still, maybe he hadn’t heard. Getting to his feet, Harry straightened up, absently rubbing his dirty cheek and his pounding head at the same time. Deciding that he had been without Louis’ embrace and kisses for long enough, Harry proceeded to systematically search the entire house, from the bedroom to the bathroom; no hiding place was left unchecked, not even places that a child would have struggled to squeeze into. He peered underneath tables and around other bits of furniture, behind curtains, into cupboards and underneath piles of clothes. It might have been easier if the flat was tidier; Harry made a mental note to clean it once he had found Louis.

 

His unease grew and grew into a roiling knot in the pit of his stomach as the minutes ticked by and Louis continued to be determinedly unfound. After a while, Harry started to feel the pinches of worry starting to shiver down his spine. Surely Louis wouldn’t have left it this long? It was getting beyond a joke. In the early onsets of panic, Harry started to cry, frantically calling Louis’ name, because he knew that there was no way Louis could listen to that without instantly rushing to his side. He closed his eyes as he stood and called “Louis!” over and over again, waiting for the older boy to slam against him and start layering him in apologetic kisses – but Louis didn’t come.

 

Harry’s eyes snapped open. He was overreacting! Louis had probably just gone out. He’d nipped to the shops, or gone to the pub with Stan and Hannah. There was probably a note somewhere explaining his absence and Harry had missed it because of all the mess. Choking back his hysteria behind a laugh, Harry went back to searching – but this time for a piece of paper and not a human being. Understandably, the search was rather harder, and he ended up heaping weeks’ worth of laundry into the wash-basket that had been left undisturbed for disgusting amounts of time, and clearing up bowls and plates from meals that they had eaten days before. It was almost funny when he realized how disgusting he and Louis were. They had been living in squalor – it was horrific! Harry snorted in disgust as he found one of his old socks lounging over the back of a chair and added it to the growing pile of dirty clothes in his arms. The second Louis was back, he was insisting that they hired a cleaning lady.

 

However, when the flat was tidier than it had ever been in living memory and no note had emerged, Harry started to feel anxious again. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. It was stupid to get in such a state…but Louis was the only person he knew who could calm him down. Taking a couple of deep breaths, Harry pulled out his phone. Why had he not thought of it before? What was the use in a mobile phone if you didn’t use it? Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he massaged his tight chest and rang Louis instantly, feeling like an idiot.

 

The phone rang out without an answer, over and over again. Harry waited patiently for it to be picked up, and to hear Louis’ familiar cheery voice saying some stupid line or another that wouldn’t fool Harry for a second. Louis never picked up straightaway.

He was surprised to discover that Louis didn’t pick up at all; the phone clicked, and when Louis’ voice filled his ears, it was a flat, pre-recorded message, not the cheerful tone he had wanted to hear. Still, it was Louis’ voice, and Harry listened to it as eagerly as if he had never heard another human being speak in his entire life.

“ _Hi, this is Louis. I’m not available at the moment – either I’m with a patient, or…otherwise engaged_.” Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the mischievous pause, intended to sound dirty, as he well knew. “ _Leave a message_!”

Hanging up, Harry swallowed hard. He was so desperate to hear the sound of Louis’ voice that he rang again, listening to the same message repeatedly with an almost worrying intensity on his face. It was when he was hearing it for the fourth time that he realized what he was doing, and hastily hung up. That wasn’t helping matters at all.

 

Lonely, Harry wandered through the unnaturally tidy flat, whispering Louis’ name under his breath – and every variation he could think of, and then every single silly nickname, no matter how much Louis loathed some of them. Boo Bear, Lou, Loueh, Lou-ee, Boo, sweetheart, darling, babe, Lou-Lou, gorgeous…he ran through the entire list of endearments and even created several new ones, and then gave up, dropping to the ground and wrapping his arms around his knees to simulate an embrace. He ended up helplessly curled up on the floor in a tiny, fragile ball as he waited for his boyfriend to return and make everything better.

 

Several hours passed, with the only sound or movement being doors slamming down the hallway, the gurgling whoosh of the boiler switching itself on, and drunken laughter from the car-park below – but it was not loud or high pitched enough to be Louis. Besides, no matter how drunk, Louis would never have ignored his phone ringing, especially if it was Harry. In fact, he would almost definitely have answered it instantly and come out with a mouthful of dirty suggestions about what the two of them could do later, when he got home – ideas that made Harry’s ears burn with embarrassment. The sexual innuendos would also be high in number, and he would probably start yelping with laughter when he realized how purple Harry had gone at the other end of the phone. But no matter how hard he prayed, no such phone-call came, and the harsh expression on Harry’s face faltered as he dissolved into tears when he realized that wherever he had gone, Louis wouldn’t – or even more worryingly, perhaps  _couldn’t_ – come back.

 

Louis Tomlinson was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Doncaster Police Station was unused to sudden activity late in the evening, and it was as a rule an extremely quiet area of Doncaster where it had been built, so when the double doors flew open and a distressed and breathless teenager came bursting in, the nervous and stammering sergeant sat behind the desk nearly fell off his chair in shock.

Detective Superintendent Harvey Notts was sat in his office with a cup of tea and a sugary doughnut, taking what he thought was a well-earned rest. Given that he had done very little all day, it was more of a personal break, but it made him feel better to pretend that he deserved it. He was supposed to be on a diet, but what his wife didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her – so as he raised the sugary treat to his lips with more enthusiasm than he had ever shown to any of his endeavours for the police force, he allowed himself a small smile. He enjoyed being superintendent.

The food had barely touched his mouth when a loud bang made him flinch, sending his cup of thankfully lukewarm tea flying across the room and his doughnut falling to the floor. Annoyed at the loss of his calorific snack, the superintendent looked up for the source of the commotion and discovered that it was the door of his office, which had flown open – and he found himself face to face, almost nose to nose, with a young boy with curly hair, angry eyes and a frightened expression on his face. As the superintendent swallowed, taken aback at having such a fierce glare fixated on him, Harry planted his large hands on the desk and leaned forwards, towering over the small and somewhat podgy man and looking borderline psychotic. His expression was murderous, although Superintendent Notts wasn’t to know that for Harry, that meant more than most. He slowly slid closer and closer, until he was looming above the superintendent with storm clouds rolling across his face. Once again, the older man gulped anxiously.

Harry opened his mouth, and he said very slowly and loudly “Where. Is. My. Fiancé?”

“Pardon me?” the superintendent squeaked, then cleared his throat in embarrassment. “What did you say, boy? This is highly irregular, I’ll have you know; you oughtn’t to be in here –”

“Where is my fiancé?” Harry repeated angrily.

Wearily rubbing his eyes, superintendent Notts said exhaustedly “Young man, your domestic disturbances have nothing  to do with me. Take it up with Clarence over there.” He indicated the anxious sergeant who was stood in the doorway, twisting his hat between his hands and mangling it as he stared nervously at the confrontation. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“My fiancé has been abducted!” Harry said loudly.

Suddenly interested, Notts leaned forward with building excitement. “You saw this happen?” Already he was seeing headlines – he, Harvey Notts, would lead the investigation that would heroically save a pretty young woman from a gang of kidnappers! After all, a boy as attractive as that must have a beautiful fiancée. Greedily considering the promotions he would receive, the articles written about him, the banquets held in his honour, all the  _food_ …the thought made Notts slaver with longing. It had been a long time since his wife had shown an interest in him other than to scold him for eating too much; if he were to rescue a girl who was lavishing in a criminals’ den, or at least organise for her to be saved, he might get some attention for once.

For the first time, Harry faltered. “No,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”

Making a disparaging noise, Notts tutted against his fingers as his excitement quickly waned.

“You don’t understand!” Harry interrupted quickly before he could be dismissed. “He’s been taken!”

_He?_ Notts thought in disgust. A gay couple? Nowhere near as good publicity. “If you didn’t see it happen, how can you be so sure?” he demanded. “Have you had a ransom note?”

“…No,” Harry said weakly.

“For exactly how long has your fiancé been missing, young man?” was the next tired query.

“Only a couple of hours,” Harry reluctantly admitted, “but –”

Losing his patience, Superintendent Notts heaved himself into a standing position. “Well, why on earth are you wasting my time? I’m a very busy man, you know! This station doesn’t run itself! You can’t expect me to jump every time someone’s fiancé goes awol. Might I suggest relationship counselling, if you’re that worried about it? Go home, young man. Your partner has probably already got back in the time you’ve wasted coming to see me.”

Rather than demand to know exactly what part of eating a doughnut could be classed as being busy, Harry continued to protest. “He won’t answer my calls! He _always_ answers. The door wasn’t properly locked. And the house was  _way_ tidier than it should have been.”

He knew as soon as the words had left his mouth that he sounded crazy and paranoid, and the superintendent seemed to share his opinion. “Perhaps, if you don’t mind me saying so, he needed a bit of space?” the man suggested icily. The meaning was clear: he thought Harry was some kind of obsessive control freak. And Harry, despite knowing he should feel angry at this insinuation, really couldn’t have cared less, because Louis –

Was somewhere. And he didn’t know where. And maybe he  _was_ a control freak, because he  _hated_ not knowing.

“We were being harassed,” Harry said desperately, “like, seriously harassed. Messages, creepy phone calls, graffiti on the house –”

Whatever small portion of the superintendent’s attention he had momentarily commandeered was dwindling; he could see the man’s watery grey eyes roving regretfully over his broken doughnut on the floor.  “I haven’t received any notification of this. Perhaps you could begin by reporting the harassment instead of panicking because your fiancé forgot to tell you where he was going. If he doesn’t materialize within the next forty-eight hours then we may be able to take further action. Until then, there is  _nothing we can do._ ” His cool, unbothered gaze met Harry full on as he dragged his blank eyes from the floor. “Go home.”

“But I –”

“Go. Home,” Notts repeated harshly.

Clenching his fists, Harry wheeled around, hating the man who stood so unfeelingly before him – hating him for not caring about Louis, for not rallying the entire British police force and sending  them all to scour every corner of the country until Louis was found…for not even  _pretending_ to care that the love of Harry’s life was missing. Harry hated him with a burning passion…a burning passion that was all too familiar. God, he wished Louis was there to remind him that he wasn’t supposed to let feelings like that consume him…it was so dangerous for him to feel that way; bad things happened when emotions like that took over. Steadying himself, Harry shoved past the sergeant in the doorway and started heading for the exit.

He was just about to leave when he heard a timid cough behind him. Eyes blazing, he whirled around, and discovered that the watery-eyed and nervous sergeant was standing fearfully behind him, looking apprehensive. It took a lot of effort for Harry to keep his expression relatively normal instead of scowling the way he wanted to.

“Yes?” he said a little too sharply.

“I’m – I’m not – I can’t do very much,” the man admitted nervously, “but do you have a picture of your partner? I – there’s not much I can do until he’s been missing for at least twenty-four hours, but if you want to leave a photo and a contact number I could run off a couple of fliers and stick them on lamp-posts or something? Then when he’s officially declared missing, I can enter him into the database and have alerts sent out as quickly as possible. It’s not much, I’m afraid, but –”

Touched, Harry said “I – thank you. Thank you so much!” He started fumbling in his wallet. “There’s a photo in here somewhere –”

Looking over his shoulder, the sergeant said “If you’ll come with me, I can scan it into the computer.”

After introducing himself as Clarence, the sergeant made about fifty fliers with a smiling picture of Louis on it, taken just before the harassment had begun – a photo so beautiful that it made Harry’s heart ache a little bit with longing. Then Harry rattled off his phone number and other contact details, and the sergeant promised that the second he was able to get around the obnoxious superintendent, he would have an alert sent out in every available corner of Doncaster. He seemed to appreciate that Harry was terrified and lonely, and Harry appreciated the kindness of this stranger who didn’t even know him. It was proof that Louis was right: sometimes the nicest people were the ones who helped you when they’d never met you before, and didn’t judge you because they had no past experiences of you to judge – all they knew was that you needed help, and help they would. It was heart-warming, really. Harry might have smiled in less dire circumstances – but thinking of Louis made crying more tempting than smiling.

“I wish I could be more helpful,” Clarence told him regretfully as Harry left the station with a smile that was only a little bit forced.

“You’ve been helpful enough already!” Harry insisted. “Just don’t get in trouble on my account, yeah?”

Once he had finished thanking the quiet but kind man, he left the station in a slightly better mood, and with a plan formulating in the back of his mind. He had done _something_ , at any rate, and it seemed that Clarence was determined to help if he could, despite the blatant disapproval of his superintendent. That made his anxiety more of a soft flutter in the pit of his stomach rather than a boa constrictor wrapping around his neck and strangling him – but he still felt uneasy. Burying his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie, he kept walking, passing underneath the sickly orange glow of a streetlamp with shadows sliding across his face, throwing darkness down his cheekbones so that he looked like an evil villain from a low-budget horror movie. He paused and looked up at the clouds with a small, thoughtful expression on his face. Harry Styles had a plan.

He had an appointment with Frightening Kylie.


	11. Chapter 11

When Harry had first arrived at Whitehall and been warned by one of the guards to watch out for Frightening Kylie, he had assumed that Kylie would be a particularly ferocious member of the catering staff. He had imagined a whale-sized woman with wobbling chins and a grim expression, carrying a giant ladle full of slop to dump onto his tray at lunch time, who had bleached blonde curls heaped on top of her head, bright lipstick smeared across her mouth and giant golden hoops hanging from her ears.

The reality of Kylie’s identity had taken him completely by surprise.

It seemed the obvious course of action that a man called Keith Riley who insisted on being called ‘Kylie’ would, in a place like Whitehall, be beaten to a pulp almost before he had got out the incriminating sentence ‘Call me Kylie’. However, according to Keith Riley, he would far rather be called Kylie than Keith, and at least ‘Kylie’ sounded vaguely threatening. So Kylie he was. Nobody wanted to argue with him. He was built like a tank with the physique of a rugby player, although with no scars or broken bones, and his smile was dazzling with not a single tooth out of place. His hair was the colour of toffee, and very fluffy. When he scowled, he looked like the kind of guy you would cross the street to avoid, but when he smiled, he looked like someone you would entrust your children with. He just had one of those trustable faces.

Harry had quickly learnt that Whitehall was separated into two halves, rather like two rival gangs in a street – Frightening Kylie was the leader of one of these gangs. Derek Thornby was the other. Although Derek’s gang was superior both in numbers and in the size of its members, all of whom had to have a certain muscle level before they would be admitted into gang ranks, Kylie’s gang was seen by the guards as inherently more dangerous, because although Derek had mastered the brawn, Kylie was in charge of the brains, and twenty skinny but cunning criminals were far more dangerous than forty large, stupid, blundering idiots who took charge simply because they were good at squashing people. Derek liked people to be well and truly subdued, and with even his smallest recruit being the size of a sofa, that was exactly what he got.

Luckily for Harry, Kylie’s lot were the smart ones – the ones who followed the rules, and therefore didn’t merit snitching on. So Harry had been welcomed into their ranks, and taken under Kylie’s protection for a while – because the man had inexplicably taken a shine to him. Unfortunately, Kylie had been released a fortnight after Harry had come in, and that safety was withdrawn; without their leader, the gang fell apart, and Harry’s protection was lost. However, just before leaving, Kylie had made sure that Harry memorized an address on the outskirts of Doncaster, and had ordered “If you get in a bad enough state, come find me. I’ll take care of you.”

Hopping into Louis’ Porsche, Harry breathed in the familiar Louis smell that clung to the upholstery, and ended up wrapping one of Louis’ abandoned voluminous jumpers around his waist. He  _hated_ those awful ugly sweaters Louis insisted on wearing: they were hideous colours, baggy and unflattering, made of itchy material, and swallowed his slender body in material, making him look bulky. The colours washed him out, too, so that he looked pale and unhealthy, and the sleeves fell down over his hands, so that he constantly had to shake them back to free his fingers. More than once, Harry had begged Louis to stop wearing the dreadful things – but now, he was glad that Louis had insisted that those jumpers were favoured by fashion experts and had refused to get rid of them, because with the loose arms hanging around his waist, it felt like Louis was sat behind him, holding him from behind. Also, the scent clung to the scratchy fabric, and the smell of Louis hung around him. As he slowly backed out of the car park, Harry felt a lonely tear drip down one cheek as his chest ached miserably and he resisted the urge to close his eyes – not a good idea whilst driving. He felt sick. Louis was gone… _gone_. It made him want to scream to even think of it.

The idea of living without Louis…it was awful. He could barely remember how his life had been before Louis had walked into it, bringing happiness and sense into the hurt, angry madness and whirling emotions that was Harry’s mind. Now he was alone again. He hurt all over with the injustice of it. All he had ever wanted was to be able to be with Louis – cruelly, because of what he had done to ensure that, he had achieved completely the opposite. 

Because he had tried to do what he thought was best for them, Louis could be anywhere. Hurt. Afraid. Louis took charge; he took care of Harry; he was the emotional support, but Harry was the taller of the two, and the more powerfully built, although Louis did have impressive biceps that he liked to flex. Harry was stronger than his boyfriend. And if he had to do terrible things to make sure that Louis was safe, he would do that. He had endured harsh name-calling, taunts, death threats and beatings on Louis’ behalf…not that Louis wouldn’t have done the same for him, but Harry had handled it better than Louis could, something that he was pretty certain of. Louis was good with matters of the mind, but Harry was physically stronger, and when he needed to be at his best, he had nerves of steel. He would do what needed to be done. This he knew. 

Truthfully, he wanted to go home, to sleep in his freezing cold bed and breathe in the smell of Louis for as long as he could. Exhausted, all he wanted was to sleep. Dreams had always been an escape; in the dark days of Whitehall, dreaming of Louis had kept him sane, and prevented him from breaking down in tears on the more horrible days. But he couldn’t do what he wanted to. He owed t to Louis to help him however he could. It wasn’t enough just to put up fliers and do nothing else. Harry wasn’t going to Frightening Kylie because he needed help; he was going because outside of Whitehall, Kylie had a constantly expanding network of contacts on his side; criminals of various calibres, various walks of life, from petty criminals to murders, all of whom adored Kylie and would follow his command to the last syllable, no matter how dangerous. Harry couldn’t have cared less about his own safety – if it meant getting to Louis faster, he almost  _wanted_ to get abducted. However, Derek – and he knew without a doubt that it  _was_ Derek who had organized this – were vindictive, and knowing that it would hurt Harry more to keep Louis captive than to capture Harry, they were unlikely to do what he wanted. _Extremely_  unlikely. They would want to hurt Louis in order to hurt Harry…and that meant that to save his boyfriend, Harry would have to rescue him. What better way to do that than with the aid of a man who was capable of ordering at least fifty men to help recover Louis in a mere instant? And knowing that Kylie had a soft spot for Harry, and that he had a serious vendetta against Derek, and would gladly leap at any excuse to strike out at Derek’s gang. Harry would help in any way he could. No matter what he had to do.

 So he drove.

Amber lights flashed and danced into the car, shadows flitting across his face as he accelerated, following the streets that, in the past few months, he had grown increasingly familiar with. Louis usually drove, but that didn’t mean that Harry couldn’t pick up route knowledge on the way. He wished Louis was with him to break the monotony: it was too quiet in the car, with the hum of the engine buzzing maddeningly beneath him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of turning the radio on. The only voices he wanted to hear were his and Louis’.

 

~*~

 

_“Can I turn the radio on?”_

_“Why? What are you playing?” Harry asked suspiciously. “_ Not  _rap music. Please. My ears suffer every time Dan and his lot turn the radio on whilst we’re clearing up; I can’t take it. I swear, since I was inside, music just_ died _. All this stuff they reckon is so great…it kills me.”_

_Louis laughed and fondly patted Harry’s hand where it lay resting on his denim-clad thigh. Harry sneaked a glance at his leg, wondering whether it would be acceptable to move that hand to touch Louis’ leg instead, or whether that would be too much of a distraction while he was driving. “Fine, no modern music. I swear, you were born in the wrong decade.” Reaching for the radio controls, he pressed a few buttons and tuned into an eighties’ radio station, then fondly ruffled Harry’s curls with a grin. “There you go, old man – lovely retro tunes for your sensitive ears.”_

_“Thanks, love,” Harry said cheerfully, tapping his knee in time to the music. He nodded his head a couple of times, then softly sang an underlying harmony under his breath. Turning to Louis, he continued brightly, “See, this –_ this  _is music.”_

_Louis rolled his eyes. “Give me The Fray any day.” But after a few seconds, even he perked up and started humming along to the tune._

_“Aha! You_ do  _like it!”_

_“I don’t!” Louis protested, but a smile was spreading across his face. “Well. It’s all right.”_

_“Ha!” Harry exclaimed. “It’s official. You’re old, too. Like me. We both have excellent retro musical tastes, Boo. We were made for each other.”_

_“Already knew that,” Louis confirmed, lazily throwing a long arm around Harry’s shoulders and smiling at him, barely lifting his gaze from the road for a nanosecond, but simultaneously conveying more love in that gaze that some people could have in a year._

_“You’re officially perfect,” Harry declared as the song ended, becoming a tune with a far swifter tempo as a dramatic guitar riff began swirling dramatically through the car from the speakers on either side of them, filling the Porsche with uplifting music. “Ooh, hello. What’s this?”_

_“Yes!” Louis said in delight, lifting his arm away from Harry and returning both hands to the steering wheel. “This is amazing! I love this song!” He sneaked a glance at Harry. “Fancy a bit of a rave, old man? Or are you and your delicate ears too sensitive for that?”_

_“I’m not beyond a quick mosh-pit on the M60,” Harry answered cheekily, flashing him the famous Styles grin._

_“Excellent,” Louis responded as he turned the music up to glass-shattering levels, so loudly that the whole car vibrated with sound waves._

_They sped down the motorway, loudly and obnoxiously singing along, their voices melding together. Harry even started waving his arms around like he was at a rock concert, much to Louis’ amusement; he snorted at the sight of his lanky boyfriend swaying back and forth with a dramatic expression on his face, occasionally fluctuating into a helpless grin as he spluttered with laughter._

_“Hey, Harry!” Louis yelled over the thudding music._

_“Yeah?” Harry bellowed back._

_“I love you, you idiot!”_

_“What?”_

_“I said I love you!”_

_“WHAT?”_

_Louis was pretty sure Harry could hear him from the mischievous expression in his green eyes, but he laughed and raised his voice even more anyway, so loudly that he felt the syllables ripping his vocal cords as he yelled “I LOVE YOU!”_

_About to reply, Harry smiled softly and opened his mouth to shout back – then panic flitted across his features as glaring headlights pierced the front windscreen, and skittered across their faces, as a loud horn blared so loudly that they could hear it even over the thudding music. Shock widened Harry’s green eyes as his mouth fell open, and Louis turned his attentions back to the road just in time to see a huge red monstrosity of a lorry careening wildly across the road, heading straight for them._

_“Louis!”_

_Harry lunged across him in a panic, grabbing the steering wheel, and he yanked with a strength that slender Louis would never possess, sending them veering in a graceful arch across the motorway and sliding clear across two lanes, as if they were some kind of ice skater smoothly cutting across a frozen lake – but punctuated with a scream of brakes and the horrible sour smell of burning rubber attacking their nostrils. The roar of the horn continued tearing through the night as it sailed harmlessly past, the occupant of the vehicle doubtlessly mouthing off at their carelessness while his lorry abused their ears even over the music. Louis gripped the steering wheel hard, quickly bringing his car back under control, and the vehicle righted itself so that once again they were cruising calmly down the motorway._

_“Jesus, Lou!” Harry complained, slamming his hand down on the radio to silence it. He only realized how loud the music had been playing when it abruptly shut off and he found himself yelling “WE ARE N –” Swallowing, he rolled his eyes and a hand leapt to his curls, pushing them back with a shuddering intake of breath. “I think the radio had better stay off, don’t you?”_

_“Yeah,” Louis agreed weakly, rubbing his eyes with one free hand. “Good God.”_

_“I know you don’t agree with my musical tastes, sweetheart, but really, you didn’t have to_ kill  _me,” Harry teased._

_Louis tutted. “You’ve seen through my cunning plan! How clever of you. You’re too smart for me, Styles. What am I to do with you?”_

_“Get me driving lessons, so we’ll be in less danger of dying every time we head onto a main road,” Harry offered dryly._

_“Excuse me, but you’re the woman in this relationship, and everyone knows women are rubbish at driving,” Louis joked._

_“Oi! Sexist. Anyway,_ you’re  _the woman.”_

_“I’m not the woman! You’re the one with the pink razor.”_

_“That’s for my moustache!”_

_“_ What  _moustache?”_

_“The moustache I’m going to grow in the near future!” Harry said defensively._

_Louis snorted. “Of course, dear.” He paused. “Purple boxers.”_

_“Girls’ skinny jeans!” Harry cried dramatically, pointing accusingly at him, “and a ridiculously feminine jumper!”_

_“Hair!_ Hair _!”_

_“Oh, shut up, darling. It’s obvious: neither of us want to admit that we’re wrong, so therefore we must_ both  _secretly be women. It’s a defining female trait, always being right about everything.”_

_“Makes no difference anyway,” Louis told him. “Male or female, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in love with you. If you were a woman, I’d turn straight for you. In a heartbeat.”_

_Harry shook his head. “You’re completely mad! I love you, Lou.”_

_“I love you too, Hazza.”_

~*~

Harry impatiently swiped away a tear as he turned down a side road. Reminiscing wasn’t helping anyone – not him, not Louis…he closed his eyes and sighed heavily as the streets started to thin, rows of bleak, cramped houses seeming to spring up out of thin air on either side of him. It looked like he was almost at where he needed to be. Slowly stopping the car, he took a deep breath and muttered the address to himself, looking down the road. Somewhere out there would be the house he needed. But he didn’t want to go in on his own.

Pulling Louis’ scratchy, sweet-smelling jumper over his head, Harry whipped out his mobile. He was sorely tempted to call Louis, but decided against it; he wouldn’t get an answer. Instead, it was another number that he dialled, another, more easy-going friend he called on for assistance – a friend who he felt guilty for involving in this mess, but who he knew would help him as much as he could.

“Hi, Niall? Where are you? Listen, I need a favour…”


	12. Chapter 12

Harry stood in the hallway of Frightening Kylie’s safe house feeling slightly awkward and very conspicuous, wearing one of the gayest and most baggy jumpers known to man, his hair sticking up everywhere and with obvious tearstains on his face – but most of all, he felt self-conscious of the blond boy who was cheerfully stood beside him, craning his neck excitedly to look at everything. Niall, rather than being horrified by Harry’s request, had been delighted at the chance to meet ‘real live gangsters’, so long as they were allies, and had quickly driven out to meet him and give moral support. Despite knowing that Liam would have been extremely disapproving of Harry’s decision to take matters into his own hands rather than allowing the police to deal with it, he would at least have looked a little more imposing; he had hard rings of muscle on his arms, could sprint for unknown – but probably ridiculous – distances, and just looked far more  _gangster-like_ than happy Niall, who was currently standing on tiptoes to stare at a man with a dragon tattoo curling around his bald head, mouth wide open with excitement. Oh, and inexplicably, Niall was wearing a shirt with a kitten on it. Harry felt tempted to face-palm right in front of everyone, but he kept his cool. Perhaps then he could persuade Frightening Kylie’s lot that Niall was just a master of infiltration and his innocence was all a very elaborate, and convincing, act.

The man with the tattooed head stepped forwards, curling his pierced lip in disdain as he looked them both up and down. On one cheek lay the long, convoluted green tail of the dragon; on the opposite side of his face, its head rested on his temple. He was wearing a sleeveless black shirt to display an array of gloomy tattoos on his arms as well. When he opened his mouth, Harry spotted a bright silver stud glistening on his tongue.

“What’re you doing here? Who told you about this place? What d’you want?” the man asked, the piercing causing him to lisp slightly. His eyes were harsh, and Harry realized with a jolt of shock that either the guy was wearing contacts, or his irises really were pure jet black. He didn’t  _sound_ so high that his pupils had ballooned to that extent, but what would Harry know? Maybe being drugged beyond sense was the norm in criminal associations.

“We’re here to see Kylie,” Harry said, hoping his voice didn’t tremble. He forced himself to meet the man’s gaze, remembering the first rule of prison survival: you’re not scared of anyone. If they confront you, don’t duck away, meet them head on, because that way you won’t look intimidated and they’re less likely to attack you.

“Yeah?” was the sneering reply. “What if Kylie ain’t here?”

“Then I’ll wait,” Harry replied calmly, unflinchingly meeting his gaze. “I’ve nothing better to do.”

“You better not be messing with us, kid. Kylie don’t like getting his time wasted.”

“Kylie told me to come,” Harry told him confidently, “if I ever needed a place to go. And I do.”

With a new interest, the man scrutinized him, while his mates gathered on either side did the same, examining Harry with new interest. “Kylie don’t often say that,” the guy mused. “He must’ve seen something in you…what can you do?”

“Huh?” Harry asked, uncertainty colouring his tone. Forcing his nervousness back, he hastily rephrased “what do you mean?”

“You shoot?”

“What? No!” Harry said in surprise.

“Ever broken into a building? Cracked a safe combination?”

“Of course I haven’t. Who does that?”

“ _We_ do that,” one of the guys said, stepping forwards. “Why, what did you think we did? Held tea parties and watched Disney Movies? This isn’t a youth club, mate; it’s a gang hideout. We shoot, we break, we steal. That’s our thing. If you can’t do that, I can’t think why Kylie would want you. You’re no good to us, kid. Take your gay jumper and get out.”

Harry flushed painfully. “I’ve killed before!”

“Right,” dragon-head scoffed, but his eyes brightened. “And so’s my grandma.”

“I have!” Harry protested. “I met Kylie in Whitehall!”

Murmurs rippled enthusiastically through the group at the news. Previously stony faces lit up with fresh excitement.

Swallowing, Harry said fiercely “Come on, who else here killed someone at the age of sixteen?”

Another stranger muttered “You don’t get put in Whitehall for killing  _one_ guy.”

“Yeah,” Harry argued, sticking his hands in his pockets, “well. I had a bit of a fight with Adam Burnsley, didn’t I? So they reckoned I was a danger to the other prisoners and moved me.”

Eyes widened. “You never beat up Adam Burnsley!” dragon-head gasped.

“I did. I punched him to the floor. I would have had him unconscious if the guards hadn’t grabbed me.” Harry gave a satisfied little nod.

“Adam Burnsley used to be one of Derek’s lads!” someone muttered.

They all eyed him appreciatively, gazes raking down his body as they appraised his physique, impressed.

“Is that true?” someone demanded, glaring at Niall. “Did he beat Burnsley up?”

Niall looked disgusted at the amount of respect that Harry was gaining from revealing that he’d attacked someone, but he nodded sharply. Regretfully giving the blond boy an apologetic glance, Harry squared up to the men who were staring excitedly at him and fixed every one of them with a harsh gaze.

“I just want to speak to Kylie,” Harry said coolly. “I’ll do what needs to be done. I could shoot someone if I had to. I’m good with a knife. I can land a punch. I’ll join you if that’s what it takes to get your help.”

“What about him?” dragon-head demanded, jerking his vibrantly coloured skull at Niall. “What can  _he_  do?”

His hesitation barely lasted a second before Harry said confidently “He picks locks.”

Niall choked and gave Harry a disbelieving glare, which Harry blatantly ignored. Seeming pleased by the idea, dragon-head and his pals looked at Niall with fresh interest, taking in his suddenly pale face and stiffened posture.

“Fine,” was the eventual reply, “I suppose you might be of some use. Sit down over there. Kylie ain’t back yet. When he comes, we’ll call you.”

That was how Harry and Niall found themselves collapsing onto a lumpy red velvet sofa, stained with grimy marks and with bits of white stuffing leaking out and flaking all over the floor, a s if the chair was bleeding dandruff. Reluctant to entrust his weight to it, Harry gingerly sat down and looked around anxiously. With no such qualms, Niall dropped down beside him, outraged, and instantly grabbed Harry’s shoulder hard enough to make the younger boy wince. Roughly, with a fury that Harry had never known the Irish lad possessed, Niall shook him, harshly enough to make Harry jerk backwards in shock as he was rocked unceremoniously about on the uneven sofa.

“What the  _hell_ was that?” Niall demanded in a whisper. “I don’t pick locks! Are you out of your  _mind_? I can’t believe you just lied to those guys! They’ll kick our heads in when they find out!”

His concern seemed so silly compared to all the things Harry had on his mind that a startled laugh fell from his mouth before he could stop it. “Is that really what you’re worried about? Seriously? Kylie won’t let anything happen to us. He’s my friend. Besides, you  _do_ pick locks. I’ve seen you. You picked the lock on the staff room for Liam once when Mac locked himself in, and I remember Louis –” he paused and had to take a very shaky breath; his chest hurt whenever he thought of his missing fiancé. “…Louis told me…you picked the lock on his filing cabinet once,” he finished weakly.

Niall squeezed his arm briefly in apology, then continued to hiss “You made me sound like an expert! I’m all right with a paperclip, but I can’t pick big security locks or crack safes or anything like that. That’s what they’ll expect me to do.”

“Look,” Harry interrupted, “they’re criminals; they can’t afford to be picky.” He chuckled once at the pun, then let it go. “You saw their faces; they could have  _kissed_ you when I said you picked locks! They won’t expect anything flashy.”

“I don’t like this,” complained Niall, “I don’t trust these guys.”

“And you think I do? Seriously, I’m as out of my depth as you are. But I trust Kylie. He’s a good bloke.”

Niall wrinkled his nose. “I’m already doubting the veracity of that statement. His name is  _Kylie_ and he’s supposed to be a good  _bloke_?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry muttered “It’s a long story.”

Shaking his head, Niall let it slide.

 

 *  *  *  *  *  *

 

They had been sat in silence for about twenty minutes, Harry picking at the stitches of Louis’ jumper and praying that it wouldn’t unravel, and Niall trying to remember everything he knew about picking locks in case he was asked to demonstrate. Sat alone in the empty corridor, Harry wished even more that Louis was there with an arm around him, rubbing his shoulders or resting his head on him, just so that he had someone to cuddle. He briefly considered grabbing Niall, knowing that he was a cuddly person, but it wouldn’t be the same.

 

All of a sudden, someone stepped into the corridor, seeming to fill it with muscles, wispy hair and a huge, friendly grin. Niall squeaked and shrank back from the huge man, but Harry properly smiled for the first time in the last what felt like forever, and he stood up to greet the man with a grin, waving awkwardly at him.

“Hey, Kylie.”

“Harry!” Kylie exclaimed, grabbing him in a huge bear hug. “Hi! How are you? God, let me take a look at you!”

He took a step backwards, holding Harry at arms’ length, then looked him critically up and down, taking in everything from his battered converse sneakers to the enormous voluminous curls on top of his head. A huge grin spread across the man’s wide face, so enormous that Niall, who was still squashed up anxiously on the sofa, had creepy thoughts of a shark or a crocodile, or perhaps the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

“It’s been a while!” Kylie cried, “and your hair is still as massive as ever! Perhaps even more so. What on earth do you do to it? I like your jumper, by the way, it’s very you.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched upwards in a sheepish smile. “You’re the only one who’s said so, but thank you. It isn’t mine, anyway. It’s Lou’s.” His chest wrenched as the soft name slipped from his mouth, and his breath caught slightly as he reached up to massage his aching collarbones.

Looking delighted, Kylie cried “ _Lou_! Where  _is_  that lucky man? He’s lucky to have you, Harry; I’d like to meet him and then I could tell him that. You’re a great kid.”

Harry had to swallow very hard. “He, uh…he couldn’t make it.” His eyes stung.

Kylie tutted. “Oh, is he one of those workaholics? Oh dear. Never mind, I’m sure I’ll make his acquaintance soon enough. Was there any reason you came to see me?” He glanced up, spotted Niall quivering on the sofa, and grinned amusedly. “And felt the need to bring an entourage?”

“I need your help,” Harry said pleadingly.

Instantly, the smile slid off Kylie’s face to be replaced with the cool, calculating look of a natural born leader. It was suddenly perfectly clear that he had been born to be in charge; he was fun and could have a laugh, but when he needed to be serious, he was most definitely serious.

“What’s been going on?” he asked calmly.

“Lou’s been taken,” Harry said faintly, “and I think Derek’s gang did it.”

“What makes you so sure?” Kylie’s expression was rock hard, his mouth hard and disapproving.

Harry had to stumble through the whole horrible story, admitting for the first time in great detail about the letters, the phone calls, the graffiti, the terror they had felt at the idea of leaving their own home and yet the fear of having to stay there…then, the ridiculous relief when it had all stopped. They’d gotten overconfident – lazy, almost – and Louis hadn’t double-locked the door…and then Harry had come home to find that Louis was gone…he started crying at that point, and both Kylie and Niall dived to comfort him, so that all three of them ended up having a massive bear hug, enveloped in Kylie’s huge arms. Niall was terrified to find himself being embraced by such a giant man, but he determinedly held on anyway, wanting to comfort Harry, who was weeping uncontrollably and soaking Louis’ jumper.

“You say that the door wasn’t forced in any way?” Kylie asked thoughtfully, his face taut with concentration.

“Nothing had been touched. Everything was in its correct place – which, considering that Lou lives there, is suspicious in itself.” His attempt at a chuckle fell flat, sounding more like a poorly-concealed sob. “Cleanliness isn’t something that comes naturally to Louis.” He managed a very wobbly smile.

Pulling a sympathetic face, Kylie mused “Discreet entries aren’t usually Derek’s style…he’s more in favour of having his minions batter doors open for him. Would Louis have let him in for some reason?”

Before the question had even been properly asked, Harry was determinedly shaking his head. “Lou was smart. He knew who we were looking for, and he knew that it could have been anyone. Maybe he didn’t double-lock the door, but there’s no way he would have let a stranger into our house.”

“Even if they had an excellent excuse?” Niall asked softly. “You know Lou; if he thought someone needed help –”

Harry swiftly cut him off with a very sharp look on his face. “Exactly. I  _do_ know Lou. I know that he may be daft, absentminded, and a total idiot – but he does have a brain! He knows the danger.”

“Does he?” Kylie muttered.

Shooting the larger man a very nasty look, Harry said sharply “Are you calling my boyfriend an idiot?”

“No, I was just pointing out that very few people know what Derek is capable of. I’d doubt that even he knows himself. He’s not sane – not by a long shot. Lou doesn’t know what he’s capable of. But neither do I – and that’s saying something. There are very few things that I don’t know about Derek.”

Mollified, Harry sniffed and gave a very jerky nod, then he fell silent. Sweeping past him, Kylie began pacing distractedly up and down a short stretch of the corridor, turning on his heel as he followed the same precise pathway up and down. There was enough dust layering the floor that his footsteps left deep scuffmarks in the dirt, marking each journey with every step blurring over the last. A contemplative frown crossed his face. Clearly intimidated, Niall closely watched him with wide blue-green eyes, following every movement that Kylie made and flinching every time those movements brought them too closely to each other. Kylie didn’t react to the increasingly frequent twitches in his peripheral vision – Niall might have been a statue for all the notice Kylie took of him. Beside him, Kylie was silent. He knew all too well that Kylie’s best feature was not his brawn, nor his sheer number of associates, but his mind. Underneath the wispy layers of dwindling tawny hair, a brilliant brain was hidden – enough cunning to outwit a fox, and a capacity for strategizing that army generals would kill for. Harry thought it might drive him insane, having to watch the man plodding steadily up and down, but he held his tongue. Kylie was pondering; disrupting him when he was so deep in thought never bode well. It was a mixture of respect and awe which gave Harry the restraint necessary to stop him from yelling out every implausible scheme that popped into his head, and he chewed nervously on the inside of his cheek as he waited.

Mid step, Kylie turned and whirled around to face Harry, pointing squarely at him. “So. Derek somehow gained access to the flat. Either he broke in somehow, which is very him” he pulled a disgusted face “or he had a skeleton key of some sort, which sounds far too intelligent and non-violent for his lot…or Lou let him in, which you’re adamant he didn’t do.”

“I trust Louis,” Harry said fervently. “He’d sooner stab himself in the eyeball with a safety pin than let a dangerous psycho into the house.” He paused. “Other than me.” His following laugh at his own joke was too pathetic even to suggest a semblance of humour.

Niall was too nauseated by Harry’s description of eyeball-stabbing to offer his own sunny laugh in support, merely looking disgusted. Kylie tutted, ignoring the horrible mental image. He’d seen so many awful things for real that fantasized bloodshed, no matter how vividly described, had no effect on him.

“That would suggest that the lock was picked, then…” he mused. All of a sudden, he turned to Niall. “Hey! You!”

“Uh…hi,” Niall answered faintly, nervousness thickening his accent.

“You pick locks, right?” demanded Kylie.

“I – uh – well…not with any – I mean, I – I dabble, I suppose,” Niall said helplessly.

“Brilliant!” was the cheerful response. “Benny can put you through your paces. OI! BENNY!”

Someone’s head quickly popped around the corner, and the rest of his body scuttled quickly after it. Benny turned out to be a man with a shrivelled, wrinkly face, but smooth and youthful skin on every other visible part of him. Without awaiting instructions, Benny hauled Niall off down the corridor, and Harry wondered whether the guy had been eavesdropping if he knew what was expected of him without having to ask.

“Right,” Kylie announced briskly, clapping his big hands together, “let’s find you a gun!”

 

 *  *  *  *  *  *

They ended up in a long, wide, high-ceilinged room that had white walls riddled with bullet-holes, like huge maggots had been worming away at the walls. There were targets leaning against the wall, cushions placed strategically on the floor and a scorched, dented cupboard in one corner, but Harry didn’t really have time to pay much attention to that, because Kylie had just unceremoniously dumped a gun into his outstretched hands.

“This is a gun,” Kylie said shortly. “You don’t need to know what sort of gun it is, or who it belongs to, or where it came from. At the moment, you don’t even need to know how to fire it. All you need to know right now is how to load it.”

Stunned, Harry blinked at the news, Delving into his pocket, Kylie produced a handful of bullets and then removed the gun from Harry’s limp grip.

“This is the magazine,” Kylie told him, expertly pulling the gun apart and shoving part of it underneath Harry’s nose, “but its name doesn’t matter, so I don’t care if you forget it. Bullets go in the magazine, magazine goes in the gun, gun clicks – bang! You’re holding a loaded weapon. Like so.” His hands flashed, there was a subdued click, and just like that, the gun was loaded.

Within seconds, Kylie had dismantled it, and then it was Harry’s turn. He fumbled clumsily with the weapon, dropped most of the bullets so that they rolled across the floor like marbles, and failed to load the gun at all. Patiently retrieving the items, Kylie once again demonstrated, then repeated the process in slow motion so that Harry could see it better. He then guided Harry’s hands through the motions several times, until Harry bravely attempted it alone. It took him a good hour or so to get the hang of it, but eventually he was able to load the gun at a fairly respectable speed, and with very little fumbling.

Just as he was proudly admiring his handiwork, Harry yawned massively, his mouth opening widely and eyes fluttering closed as he let out an exhausted sigh. He instantly clamped a hand over his mouth to disguise the noise, but to his shock, Kylie had already confiscated and unloaded the weapon, and was locking it away in the burnt cupboard.

“Enough. I’ll teach you the proper stance and correct way to hold it tomorrow. Right now, you’re going to bed.”

“No!” Harry protested. Sleep? When he could be learning invaluable skills that would help him to rescue Louis? Not likely! “No, I’m not tired, I –”

“Kylie’s House Rule number one,” Kylie said sternly, “nobody touches a gun if they’re tired. Or sick. It never ends well. Go and get some sleep. You’re no use to anyone in this state. You look like the walking dead.”

Harry scowled and shoved his hands into his pockets, but he traipsed obediently after Kylie as the other man led the way out. Truth be told, he  _was_ tired, and the idea of sleep sounded far nicer than the idea of endlessly loading bullets into a gun.

Although not quite as nice, perhaps, as the thought that one of those bullets might soon be inside Derek Thornby.


	13. Chapter 13

Louis didn’t make a habit of getting himself kidnapped, but so far he had decided that although he didn’t think much of it, it could be worse. Since his  _Total Wipeout_ marathon had been rather rudely interrupted by six silent, hooded hooligans, who had wordlessly declined his offer for them to join him – he supposed they weren’t fans of Richard Hammond – and then bundled him into a white van (how cliché, although it was so filthy that it was closer to brown than white) he had been treated surprisingly well. According to common stereotypes, he ought to have been languishing in a filthy, dark room that was barely large enough to accommodate him, bound and gagged and constantly held at gunpoint, while he slowly starved to death. So far, it would appear that the only thing he was in danger of slowly dying from was boredom. 

He had already explored both of the rooms that he was able to access, and discovered little source of amusement. The main room was a little larger than his and Harry’s bedroom, and painted bleakly white with pale blue skirting boards. It had one window with heavily reinforced glass, which faced onto a small, weed-ridden yard which had a ten-foot electric fence surrounding it to keep people in – and out – oh, and some lovely barbed wire, too, as though the fence didn’t quite get the message across. There was really no need for it; Louis had no intention of attacking the fence and getting barbequed. Although, when he thought about it, Harry probably wouldn’t let a 10,000-volt fence get in his way, so perhaps the wire wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The yard was an eyesore, but he did have some nice cerulean curtains to draw across the window if he really couldn’t stand the sight of it. His bed was a sturdy camp-bed with a thin but comfortable mattress, whereas the pillow was fat and overstuffed in comparison, and the heavy blanket just a slightly different shade of blue to the curtains, which presumably was a mistake as it looked awful. When he sat down on it, the bed creaked uneasily but didn’t wobble.

The floor was painted white as well, and so icily cold that it almost felt damp. Everything was unnaturally clean, as if it had all been scrubbed in anticipation of his arrival. The bookcase on the back wall had been emptied, but he wasn’t overly disappointed; he didn’t read much anyway. Surprisingly, he had an en suite bathroom which he didn’t quite like to use, filled with fluffy white towels, lots of toothpaste, and seven different types of shampoo. It was all so  _weird_. It would appear that his captors couldn’t seem to decide whether to treat him as a prisoner or a guest in a five-star hotel. Either that, or they were toying with him, making him feel secure whilst they secretly planned how best to inflict torture and misery on him in the near future. Understandably, Louis wasn’t all too comfortable with that idea.

Despite being in awe of his surroundings, Louis didn’t react well to boredom and soon he got so fed up that he was past caring about the pristine quality of the room. He painted a picture with toothpaste on the bottom of the bathtub, mixed all the bottles of shampoo together in the sink and then added water, and gave himself a beard with the resulting bubbles. Then he smeared the rest of the foam all over the bathroom and had a solitary snowball fight with it, lobbing it messily at every elaborately polished surface and leaving soapy blobs everywhere. Once that had lost its entertainment value, he wisely attempted to clear up the bubbles and met with limited success.

Alleviating boredom soon became his sole occupation. He tried to teach himself to juggle the empty shampoo bottles but was useless at it. A single gentle bounce on the camp bed almost made it capsize, so he quickly figured out that it wasn’t built for jumping on. Singing held him out for a while, but his throat began to ache, he got thirsty, and the water from the taps tasted nasty so he chose to avoid drinking it when possible. Sleep wouldn’t come, and counting sheep was ineffective at tiring him out; he just got more bored. When he tried picking the bookcase apart, numbly wondering whether he could make some kind of weapon out of the nails that held it together, he found that it had been constructed with glue. Swearing, he abandoned the attempt. He was rubbish at fighting anyway. He’d be better trying to bludgeon his captors over the head with one of the empty shampoo bottles than stabbing them with a nail.

He was briefly considering whether to break the bookcase anyway and whack _himself_ over the head with what was left of it, just for something to do – and then the door, the plain white door, the unsophisticated wooden door, the door which he’d never thought to try because of course he’d assumed that it would be locked – the door that was most definitely  _un_ locked…that door opened. And someone stepped through it. At that point, Louis’ breath hitched, and his eyes widened in panic as he flattened himself against the wall, because even though he’d had Harry throw away that awful newspaper-cutting photo because they didn’t need a pair of mean, badly-printed eyes propped up against the toaster and watching their every move, and even though it had been a poor-quality photo in any case, fear is good at ingraining things into your memory. Which meant that he  _recognized_  the man who was stood before him. And that recognition was enough to root him to the spot with fear.

“Good evening,” Derek said.

Louis scrambled backwards in shock, although it was pretty impossible to get much closer to the wall than he was, and he shrank in on himself, twisting into a kind of crouch as he hunched over and stared in fear at the man who was smiling at him. It was an oddly relaxing and non-threatening smile, not the kind of expression he had expected to see from a man like that. It was a genuine smile, too, that reached his grey eyes, and that unnerved him.

Derek Thornby was less stocky than he had appeared in the newspaper cutting, looking more like some kind of aging sporting hero than the burly, threatening monster that Harry had made him out to be. With the frown lines and creases missing from his forehead, the dark, murderous expression replaced by a smile, and his hands swinging in a very non-confrontational manner by his sides, he looked almost pleasant. His hair had grown out a little from the buzz-cut and was more of a soft black fuzz, looking extremely odd as he appeared to be growing sideburns as well. The brown eyes that had looked so unforgiving in the photo seemed kind, and as his mouth twitched upwards into an even larger smile, Louis hesitantly returned it. What was the harm in that?

“Sorry, that was a textbook vampire horror movie line,” Derek said with a grin, “I take it back. What I think I ought to say is: hello.”

“Hey, man, how’s it going?” Louis replied faintly.

“Excellently, thank you for asking,” Derek answered. “How’re you holding up?”

“Uh…well…if this is kidnapping, then it’s not as bad as it’s cracked up to be,” Louis said hesitantly.

Derek laughed. “Kidnapping? This isn’t  _kidnapping_! If it was kidnapping, would I really have left the door unlocked? Give me some credit. Besides, it’s very unlikely that you’d have an en suite bathroom if you’d been abducted. I like what you’ve done with it, by the way. Very…bubbly.”

“I got bored,” Louis admitted apologetically.

“So I can see. But anyway…this is definitely not kidnapping. If it was kidnapping, it would be far worse than this, trust me.” He allowed himself another grin.

“Um…don’t take this the wrong way, but…you kind of sent a bunch of guys to take me out of my house and bring me to some place against my will, and at least made me  _think_ that I was locked in. I’m pretty sure that’s classed as kidnapping.”

“Of course it isn’t! We’re just  _borrowing_ you. I thought that might get the message across to your darling lover,” Derek told him, the first hint of bitterness creeping into his voice.

Louis shifted uneasily. “What message would that be, exactly?”

“Primarily that we don’t appreciate being snitched on,” came the smooth answer.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t done things which merited snitching on, then you wouldn’t have that problem,” Louis rather boldly shot back.

“How very self-righteous of you. But I suppose you couldn’t be expected to side with anyone other than your fiancé; loyalty is something we value around here, and I must admit that I admire you for hanging onto it when truly, you know that the wrong response could make things rather uncomfortable for you.”

“I won’t betray Harry,” retorted Louis, “and I’m not scared of you.”

“Good!” Derek exclaimed, “I’d despise you if you were. I hate snivelling cowards. I always admired the way that Harry looked me right in the eye while I punched him in the head…” his voice trailed off carelessly, and Louis wistfully thought of what a lovely loud crunch that long nose would make if he just so happened to punch it.

“Why did you do it?” Louis whispered. “Was it just the snitching? Or was it because of me?” When he remembered how awful Harry’s face had looked when it was so swollen and bruised, his stomach constricted with guilt. He hated to think that he had been responsible, but at the same time, he wanted another reason to hate the smiling man, and if he was a homophobe, that would be yet another excellent reason to  loathe him.

It took a few moments of consideration before Derek replied “I beat up a lot of people. Does there have to be a reason?”

“I’d like one,” Louis said with forced politeness.

Derek waited several seconds for effect, and then a nasty smile crept across his face, stretching his thin lips into a smirk as he murmured “Because I  _can_.”

Louis couldn’t remember ever being so angry in his life. White-hot pulsed through him; he could feel himself turning red, and his fists clenched as he straightened with a jerk. He very rarely became angry, but when he did, oh, you knew about it. His cheeks flushed scarlet and his dark blue eyes flashed dangerously as he stared at Derek. The urge to punch him was too strong. Louis wished he could be like Harry; the curly haired boy could launch himself across the room and have floored someone before they even had time to turn and look at him, but Louis didn’t have as much practice at hitting people – or spur of the moment decisions – and so he was unlikely to get a good hit in. That didn’t stop him starting across the room; he couldn’t just let a statement like that go past him without at least _attempting_  to punch the smugly grinning person who had said it. So Louis made a rush for Derek, arms outstretched, lunging clumsily at him but with enough enthusiasm to at least  _try_  and get a decent smack in there.

Unfortunately, Derek was ready for him. His hand came up almost lazily, and when Louis made a brave attempt to punch him, the man caught his wrist so easily that it was almost insulting, and then he held Louis in front of him for a few seconds with a taunting expression. Incensed, Louis started trying to summon a mouthful of saliva to spit in his face, but before he had even begun, Derek was jerking him off his feet and sending him staggering backwards in a ridiculous way. Cheeks burning even more, Louis tried to right himself, but the man still had his arm, and as Louis began steadying himself to catch himself out of the fall, Derek twisted sharply and with a yelp, Louis dropped to the ground, landing on one knee – which of course, hurt even more. He cried out and tried to wrench free, but the fist which was holding him was far too strong to be shaken off by a little wriggling. His fingers scrabbled ineffectively at the bright pink skin, but he had bitten all his nails to the quick and they were useless weapons. Eventually, he stayed on his knees, but he glared straight up at Derek with an unflinching gaze.

“You’ve got spirit!” Derek exclaimed, “I  _like_ that!”

Disgusted, Louis snapped “If that’s what  _you_ like, then maybe I’d be better off as a whining, spineless idiot.”

“You probably would; that way I’d have no interest in you and I might make things a bit quicker so I could get rid of you sooner,” Derek admitted. “But unfortunately, there’s a little thing called pride, and therefore I know that there’s no way you’d give in.”

Louis swallowed. It was true; if there was one thing he had plenty of, it was pride, and he knew that no matter how much he was suffering, it would take pure agony before he would give Derek the satisfaction of seeing him beg. He despised grovelling. Louis would never be the strongest guy around in a battle of strength alone, but when it came to determination, he was excellent at it; his endurance was almost impossible to beat. Nobody had tested his staying power before, and although he was dreading it, he was almost excited to see the extent of his stamina, as it were.

“In that case,” Louis said, “do your worst.”

Derek smirked again. “Nice of you to offer.” Then he shot forwards in a blur of motion, and with a crack, his heavy fist collided with Louis’ jaw.

All credit to Louis: he never once flinched. When that big hand came flying towards his face, he watched it shoot forwards without blinking, and as it slammed into him, his eyes stayed accusingly open as he fell backwards and landed on the floor. A small gasp fell disobediently from his lips but he sealed them again instantly, determined not to fail like that again, and he forced himself into a sitting position, limbs trembling, face already starting to swell as his cheek darkened with the beginning of a bruise. Derek seemed amused by his refusal to give in; he landed another quick punch, and Louis’ eyes rolled up into his head as he slumped to the ground, but he didn’t frown, he didn’t cry out. His eyelids fluttered obstinately for a few moments as he fought to stay conscious, but the power of Derek’s right hook was just a little bit too much for him, and as he sank backwards, his lips moved and framed garbled swearwords that he murmured weakly under his breath; a last string of insults as a final act of defiance to the man who had him imprisoned. As Louis slipped away, Derek  _laughed_  – and if he had been awake to hear it, Louis would have screamed in frustration.


	14. Chapter 14

A headache was what awoke Louis before anything else; his head was pounding fiercely, his tongue sluggish and heavy in his mouth. Unconsciousness had left his limbs numb and his eyelids heavy, and he struggled to wake up again. Someone had moved him onto the camp bed, and as he forced himself into a sitting position, he spotted Derek perched on the end. Louis was surprised that the bed hadn’t capsized with such a huge and heavy man weighing down the end of it, but he made no comment. Instead, he narrowed his eyes to glare at Derek as fiercely as he could. The side of his face was swollen and sore, and he guessed  that it was bruised, although he couldn’t see it. Probing his jaw with inquisitive fingers, Louis winced and wondered how he would have coped if he’d been subjected to the same torment as Harry, and had his face so mutilated as Harry’s had been after the guys at Whitehall had finished with him. If Louis couldn’t manage one punch without feeling sorry for himself, then how would he have dealt with being so violently assaulted as his boyfriend had? The thought made him shudder.

He faced up to Derek with a scowl forming readily on his face, secretly readying himself for another blow. Thankfully, his expression stayed stiff, not betraying his nervousness. There was a stiffening in his shoulders as he forced himself upright and plastered his most threatening expression on, the one he used when dealing with rowdy patients when they started squaring up to him. His breathing was steady and he made deliberate eye contact. Refusing to give the man the satisfaction of knowing that he was scared, Louis prepared himself for what might come next.

“Hungry?” came the deceptively friendly question.

The frown deepened as Louis regarded him suspiciously, uncertain as to whether it was a trick question or not. If so, then the wrong response could earn him another punch, or perhaps worse. It was an extreme reluctance to answer that sealed Louis’ lips rather than obstinacy.

“It’s a simple enough question.”

Weirdly, Louis had an urge to apologize – which unnerved him, because what did he have to apologize for? “Yeah,” he said slowly, “I guess I am.”

“Don’t let it be said that I’m inhospitable!” Derek cried cheerfully, “I’ll get you a sandwich. What sort of sandwiches do you like? Sandwich fillings are  _very_ important. Tell me it’s not something obscure, like pickles and mayonnaise?”

Louis wrinkled his nose. “Um…no. Ham will do me just fine, thanks.”

“Excellent! You’re a man after my own heart.” From behind him, Derek pulled a tray and slid it across the bed, pushing it over to Louis. Surprisingly, there was already an enormous ham sandwich waiting for him, which made Louis blink in confusion. Derek shrugged at his obvious shock. “I guessed that you were a ham kind of guy.”

Louis reluctantly accepted his explanation, then poked the sandwich and sniffed it cautiously, trying to work out if there was something wrong with it. His inventory came up blank, but he was still wary; who knew what had been done to it. For a moment of so, he continued to examine it, pulling it apart to check for suspicious colours or weird extra ingredients, until Derek reached out and stayed his hand, preventing him from dissecting the bread any further. Louis flinched instinctively, then felt his cheeks burn in shame at the reaction. Pretending he hadn’t seen Louis cringing away from him, Derek fixed him with a long, searching look.

“You really think I’d poison you?”

“You might,” Louis said defensively, “ _I_ don’t know what’s going on in your head.”

Shaking his head pityingly, Derek answered “I wouldn’t poison you, trust me.” He sounded so sincere that Louis couldn’t help but hate him a little less, until the familiar nasty grin crept across his face and he continued, “Where would be the fun in that?”

“You’re despicable.”

“I’m an awful lot of things,” Derek told him impassively, “it wouldn’t surprise me if that was one of them. You have my permission to add it to the list.  _If_ you eat that sandwich.” He pushed Louis’ hand closer towards his mouth.

Reluctantly, Louis took his first tentative nibble, and followed it with another. It wasn’t long before he had forced the whole sandwich down, and he had to admit that it wasn’t as awful as he had expected; it was freshly made, and, as far as he could tell, in no way contaminated. After it had vanished into his stomach, he was handed a glass of water, and after experimentally swirling it around in the glass and sniffing it  to make sure  that it hadn’t been tampered with either, he drank it all eagerly; it tasted far nicer than the bland, harsh tap water he’d drunk before.

“There. Was that so hard?” Derek asked.

“I don’t like accepting food from the enemy,” Louis said bluntly.

“Who says I have to be your enemy? I understand your loyalty, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be civil to each other, does it? After all, I have nothing against you personally. I’m only doing this to hurt Harry.”

With dignity, Louis drew himself up into a sitting position and answered coolly “ _That_ is exactly why I hate you. How could you say something like that so calmly?”

“Is this the part where you deliver an impassioned speech about how hard you find it to believe that  _anyone_ could hate Harry?” Derek asked boredly.

“No. I understand perfectly why you hate him. Lots of people do – far many more than I’d like. If I had my way, everyone would love that boy. I can’t control how anybody feels, not even me. God knows that I’ve hated him myself before now. Believe me, I understand…he betrayed you. You never trusted him in the first place, so that must have lessened the blow, but he still sold you out to the guards, so yes, I understand why you hate him. That doesn’t mean that I like it, or that I condone anything that you’ve done as an act of revenge since then. I suppose I can just be glad that while I’m here, you aren’t hurting him anymore.”

“Why would I waste the time and effort in doing that?” Derek asked wryly, his mouth twitching with faint amusement. “I don’t  _need_ to hurt him anymore. He’ll do that for me, all by himself.”

Louis’ mouth went dry as he considered the possibility. Since he’d been captured, he had never really considered what Harry might do while he was gone…and the memory of seeing Harry’s bloody wrists before him made his stomach twist violently. Would Harry hack his own arms to pieces without Louis to stop him from doing it? Louis didn’t often have to comfort him or discourage him from that course of action, but on those rare occasions that he did, he had seen raw panic and desperation for the release which the self-harm brought, lingering in Harry’s eyes. He remembered having to coax a knife out of Harry’s trembling hands, and dread clenched at his heart, squeezing it into a hard ball in his chest. Only then he wondered how Derek could possibly know about that, because to his knowledge, Harry had never laid a finger on himself at Whitehall; there had been enough other people around who were eager to do it for him…

“What do you mean?” Louis croaked.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Or haven’t you seen an electric fence before? The second he tries to scale that to get to you, he’ll be fried. If he tries to burst through the door, he’ll be peppered with bullets before he can blink. There are enough sensors on the roof and at the windows that alarms start screaming if a  _leaf_ falls in the wrong place. We aren’t fools around here, Louis.” The sound of his name slithering through such thin and unpleasant lips made Louis shudder. “We have prepared for intrusions such as this. The moment lover boy tries to come to your rescue, he’ll skewer himself on barbed wire or cook himself on the fence, or end up being shot to bits by the sentries outside. I won’t need to lay a finger on him; he’ll have killed himself long before he gets close enough for me to do it. Being heroic and martyring himself won’t save him now – it’ll only kill him quicker.”

Louis was thankful that for once, Derek had the decency not to smile at the thought of such violence being inflicted upon Harry – because if he’d had to see that sickening, smug smile at the thought of his beloved’s pain just one more time, he would yet again have attempted to punch the expression off Derek’s face, and he had already proved that he wasn’t particularly good at that.

“He’s not stupid,” Louis said faintly, “he won’t do anything –”

He paused when he found that Derek’s hand had shot out, and he was holding Louis’ phone tantalizingly underneath his nose. Helplessly, Louis stared longingly at the device. Just a few quick taps of his fingers, and then Harry’s voice would be there…he wanted to snatch the phone out of the man’s clumsy fingers, but he hesitated for a moment out of fear of the consequences if he did so.

“Ring him,” Derek commanded.

Barely registering what had just been said, Louis blinked stupidly.

“Ring him,” repeated the man, and he pushed the phone a few inches closer.

“Why?” Louis asked suspiciously.

With a sigh, Derek answered “Do you want to speak to him, or not?”

Obviously, Louis didn’t bother to answer that; he had already seized the phone and was switching it on, relieved to find that it had a decent amount of battery power left, and rather less relieved to find no less than seventeen missed calls from Harry. A twist of guilt left him feeling horrible, and his fingers shook as he scrolled quickly through his contacts to find the familiar number, which he then selected and the phone began to ring out as it dialled and then connected. Louis barely noticed how excellent the service was; he was too busy hanging on to the phone as if it would kill him to let go. He felt lightheaded as he clung, swaying slightly, to the bit of plastic that felt like his only lifeline, and waiting in what felt like agony. The monotonous dialling tone carried on, and he sat anxiously in anticipation. Before long, he had started to panic that there would be no answer: what if Harry’s phone was out of batteries? What if the questionable reception in their flat failed him? What if he had left his phone in another room, and, as was his habit, had left it on silent so that he wouldn’t hear it? What if he was simply incapable of answering? That thought was far by the worst; Louis nearly choked when it occurred to him. Harry could be asleep, he could be blind drunk, on either grief or just normal alcohol, or most horrifically of all, he could have slashed his arms to ribbons and be lying unconscious in a pool of –

 

A soft click and the sound of the call connecting halted the pessimistic thoughts immediately, and Louis felt his heart freeze in his chest as a familiar voice demanded “Louis?”

“Harry?” Louis gasped, and he knew that if he had been standing up, his legs would have given out. The sound of furniture creaking on the other end suggested that Harry’s had done just that, and he had collapsed into a chair, unable to support himself any longer.

“Oh my god, Louis!” Harry cried. He was gripping his own phone so tightly that his knuckles had turned white in protest, but he barely noticed. Having dropped into a chair in the room that Kylie had lent to him, he started shaking, but there was nobody there to see him, so he gave himself in to the weakness and allowed his vulnerability and panic to show as he started sobbing frantically down the phone, his breath rasping and sending a crackling sound down the line.

Unfortunately, Louis didn’t have the same luxury of privacy as Harry did; he turned his back on Derek so that the larger man wouldn’t see the inevitable tears springing into his blue eyes at the sound of the raw fear and desperation in Harry’s voice.

“Hey, babe,” he whispered, “it’s me.”

“Where are you? Are you okay? What  _happened_? Louis, are you hurt? Tell me quick!” The questions were relentless, desperate queries that hurt him far more than Derek’s punch had. Louis was momentarily incapacitated by pain in his chest before he could bring himself to answer.

“I’m –” an anxious glance round at the frowning face of his captor told him that despite the overconfidence he had shown, Derek had no intention of making things easy for Harry by allowing Louis to give him a location. Not that Louis could have given out any useful information anyway; he had no idea where he was. “I’m all right,” he said evasively. “I’m safe.”

“God damn it, Lou, you think that’s enough? I’m tearing my hair out here! For God’s sake, keep talking; I need to know that you’re alive.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“ _Anything_ ,” Harry begged. “Tell me where you are so I can get you out!”

“I –” beside him, Derek was frowning fiercely, and Louis swallowed hard. “I can’t tell you that.”

“L – ” Harry’s argument died in his throat as the truth dawned on him. “You’re not alone, are you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Louis agreed, “I’ve got an acquaintance of yours sat beside me, listening to every word I say. Want me to pass on a message?”

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be particularly printable,” Harry muttered darkly, “just keep talking, before I go insane.”

“He says hi,” Louis lied, waving at Derek, and then diverted his attentions back to Harry’s voice travelling down the phone. “I’m so sorry, love. I never meant to do this to you.”

“Don’t apologize!” Harry begged, “you’ve nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t ask to be kidnapped. It’s my fault, not yours. Oh, Louis. You’re all right, aren’t you?”

“I’m excellent!” Louis promised cheerily, “I’m absolutely fabulous. It’s like being in a hotel. I’ve even had a ham sandwich!”

A stinging slap across the back of the head taught him that his response hadn’t been the one that was required. Louis gasped and his eyes watered, and he fought to hold back the reproachful stare that he wanted to fling in Derek’s direction. Leaning away from the hand that had hit him, Louis shuffled to the edge of the bed and licked his lips, trying to figure out what he’d said that had been taken offence to.

“Lou?” Harry asked sharply.

“M’fine,” Louis muttered, “just…stubbed my toe.”

“Liar.” Harry’s voice was accusing. “What happened?”

“Knocked myself on the edge of the bed.”

“Louis, stop lying to – he can hear every word we say, can’t he?” Harry’s voice instantly changed from concerned to calm, but Louis knew what an effort it took for the younger boy to keep it that way.

“Pretty much,” Louis agreed, “not you, maybe, but certainly for me.”

Harry ground his teeth. “I don’t like this. Can he hear me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shall we test it?” Harry asked smoothly, and then he raised his voice and yelled “WANKER!”

Louis yelped and snatched the phone away from his ear in response to the whine that the phone made as feedback from Harry’s yell. “Holy – what was  _that_ for?”

“An experiment,” Harry replied, “did he hear what I said?”

A quick glance at Derek’s slightly confused expression gave Louis the answer: “No.”

“Good, because I have to tell you something. Oi, Derek! Can you hear me, ugly?”

No matter how good an actor Derek was, if he had been able to hear Harry, he would have reacted to the sound of his name in some way. Louis gleefully turned his back on him again, and when Harry asked again “Can he hear me?” he was able to answer “Definitely not.”

“Thank God. Listen, Lou, I don’t want you to worry about me, okay? Don’t panic. Don’t be scared. I’m going to save you. Everything has already been set in motion. I’m going to take care of things. Don’t worry about me.”

Of course, that statement only made Louis more worried. “Harry, what have you done?”

“Nothing,” Harry insisted, “at least not yet.”

“What are you  _intending_ to do, then?” Louis demanded in a slightly panicked tone.

“Derek has enemies, Lou, people who don’t like him, who want him gone just as much as we do. I’ve met a couple of old mates from Whitehall, and they’re going to help me get you out of here, I promise.”

Louis wanted to argue that Harry didn’t  _have_ any old mates from Whitehall; they’d all hated him, and the evidence was sat behind him, eyes boring into the small of his back, but if he said that, then the whole thing would pretty much be given away, so he just whined “Harry, don’t do anything stupid!”

“I  _never_ do anything stupid,” Harry said innocently, which alerted Louis that whatever he was planning was very stupid indeed. “I’ve thought it all through.”

“That I very much doubt,” Louis said dryly, “you  _never_ think things through; you just do whatever you think is best on the spur of the moment.”

“Not this time. I’m on a team; they’re teaching me…stuff.” Harry hastily shut himself off before he could say any more. “Nobody’s going to let me do anything reckless.”

“Harry, you’d better not be doing anything illegal!”

“Well…it could be  _more_ legal, I suppose,” Harry said evasively.

“ _Harry_! What are you doing? Don’t be an idiot; you know that the second the courts get wind of you misbehaving even a little bit, they’ll have you banged up again before you can blink. You won’t even get a warning. The slightest sniff of illegal activity on your part and you’ll be back in Stonehaven, and that won’t help either of us.  _Please_ , Harry.” Louis knew he’d already said too much; Derek was staring at him with new interest, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much. He was terrified that Harry would get locked up again, and that was something that he didn’t think he could live through.

“You make me sound like a naughty little kid,” Harry snorted, “I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think you do,” Louis told him. “You don’t have an ounce of sense in that head of yours; all those curls are taking too much head space.” He couldn’t help but smile slightly at the feeble joke.

“Oh, Lou,” Harry sighed softly, “I don’t have a choice. I can’t just  _leave_ you there.”

“Of course you can. If you leave me, they’ll probably get bored and let me go.” It was a lie, but the best kind, and Louis didn’t regret it as it slid from his mouth.

“I’m not stupid, and I’m not buying that. The good thing about you being locked up is that you can’t stop me – so I’m not giving up. I’m going to learn what I have to do to save you, and then I’m going to do  it, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Please, Harry!” Louis begged.  “I love you. I love you so much. You’ll get hurt. Don’t do this.”

“ _Nothing_ could hurt as much as this,” Harry snapped. “Being away from you is worse than anything they could do to me. I don’t care.”

“Please don’t do anything reckless.” Louis closed his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too. I love you. I love you…I love you I love you I love you I lo –”

 

Derek snatched the phone out of Louis’ hand, raised it to his ear, and said “There’s a time limit on these calls, and it’s run out, I’m afraid – beep, beep.” Then, he hung up, and Louis could still hear the sound of Harry’s frantic ‘I love you’s echoing in his ears as the call was disconnected.


	15. Chapter 15

“Lou? Louis!” Harry clung almost hysterically to his phone, afraid that he might shatter the plastic, but unable to let go, because that would feel too much like giving up. The nasal sound of the empty dialling tone rang in his ears, tainting the memory of Louis’ voice, but he couldn’t tear it away from him because at least it was a reminder that they had just spoken. It took him a good ten minutes to peel himself away from the phone, his lower lip trembling as he closed his eyes and hung up, with a lot of effort. He had to spend a long time persuading himself that there was no way Louis was going to be able to ring him back, and even after that, he quite literally had to  _force_  himself to put the phone down.

Once he’d done that, he realized how red and swollen his eyes were, and, determined not to look weak, he ended up dragging himself into the shower and turning it on at the highest possible temperature so that the water pouring down on him was so hot that it felt like it was scalding his skin. It splashed all over every inch of him, leaving his skin angry red so that it was the exact same colour as his eyes, and Harry hung on to his elbows as he felt the water cascading across his shoulders. Eventually when he dragged himself out of the shower to face the world, feeling like one more drop of water falling onto him might break him into pieces, he discovered that someone had left a pile of clothes on the chair beside his bed. He didn’t know whose clothes they were, but they fitted him all right; selecting a plain white shirt and a pair of black chinos, he appreciated that the owner of the clothes was only a little larger than him so the outfit was only slightly baggy. His hair hung dripping down his back, sopping wet and bedraggled, the water having shocked all the waves out of it so that it only curled slightly at the tips. He never really realized how long it was until it got wet, and then it almost reached his shoulders. Harry rubbed his eyes, then after a moment’s hesitation, picked Louis’ jumper off the bed and pulled it over his head. Who cared what people thought? It was the closest thing he had to having Louis’ arms around him, and it smelled like Louis, and it calmed him down a little when he felt like he was going insane…what did it matter if people thought it was a ‘painfully gay jumper’, as someone had cattily whispered as he passed them in the corridor the day before?

He was surprised to find that when he ventured out of his room he was directed towards the room that Kylie had taken him to the day before – could he have missed breakfast and be forced to learn how to shoot on an empty stomach? – but when he arrived, he discovered that the room was filled with people helping themselves to McDonalds breakfasts. Most were sat  cross-legged on the floor, several sprawled awkwardly on bean bags, and the elite few, Kylie included, actually had a chair, although there were only five or six people lucky enough for that. One of the people seated on a bean bag was the man with the dragon tattooed on his head, and he was talking to Niall, who amazingly seemed to have forgotten his food; he was staring open mouthed in awe at the man, and as he reached up to poke more of the breakfast into his mouth, he missed, and smeared it across his chin instead. He didn’t seem to notice. Harry hurried over to them, glad to have a couple of familiar faces, and sat cross-legged on the floor beside Niall. Without tearing his gaze away from the tattooed man, Niall shoved a bag of food in Harry’s direction and continued giving amazed looks to the man in front of him.

“So I got him in a headlock, kind of like  _this_ ,” the man said, seizing the guy sitting next to him around the neck and twisting him almost upside down to demonstrate, “and I said ‘let’s put it this way; if you don’t hand it over, then in approximately ten seconds you’re  _so_ gonna wish you had.”

“ _Oooh_!” Niall said excitedly, and what little bit of food he’d managed to transfer into his mouth abruptly fell out of it, dropping onto the floor. Harry felt a little bit sick. “ _Then_ what happened?”

Seemingly pleased by the attention, the guy continued, “Well, he wasn’t giving it up without a fight – so I grabbed my gun, and I stuck it  _here_  –” he picked up a breakfast roll and all but shoved it up his friend’s backside, “and then I went ‘okay, then, how’s this: give it to me now, or I’m gonna shoot this last bullet right up your a –”

“Tony!” Kylie snapped from across the room.

Stricken, Tony paused in his demonstration and looked up in dismay at where Kylie was sat glaring at him. Niall immediately looked worried. Harry was still a little freaked out by the story, so he didn’t take much notice of the furious expression on Kylie’s face. However, Tony did, and he quickly released his friend.

“Yes, boss?” he asked guiltily.

“I’ve told you before to stop telling people that story! That is  _not_ a good example of an extraction, do you understand me? In fact, that was the worst example of an extraction I’ve ever known anyone to do, and how you got away with it will always mystify me. I’d appreciate it if you  _didn’t_ try to tell our new recruits that that’s how we run things around here, because it most certainly is  _not_.” Then, Kylie turned back to his breakfast, scowling.

Ducking his head in shame, Tony muttered “Anyway, never mind. The boss don’t want me to talk about that.”

Niall made a disappointed noise. “What? It sounded awesome!”

“It was reckless and stupid,” Tony’s friend, a small, skinny man with round glasses and a beaky nose corrected. “He was lucky Kylie didn’t kick him out for it. We don’t do stupid stuff like that around here. That’s the kind of stunt that Derek’s lot pull off.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Tony interrupted again, clearly trying to change the subject, “what did you guys get up to yesterday? Niall, you were with Benny, right?”

“Yeah!” Niall agreed enthusiastically, “it was great. He reckons I’m all right at lock picking. I couldn’t do all of them, but he said he’ll teach me to crack some of the tougher security locks in a bit. I’m faster than him, though; I beat his records on quite a few of them.” He looked pleased.

Nodding, Tony asked, “What about you, Harry?”

Harry shrugged and picked at his breakfast, systematically tearing it to pieces as he kept his eyes on it. “Kylie showed me how to load a gun. I’m all right. He’s going to teach me how to hold it later.”

Tony blinked in surprise. “He let you have a gun on your first day? That’s weird. Usually Kylie doesn’t let new guys near the firearms until he knows he can trust them. I was here three weeks before he would even let me  _touch_  a gun.”

Once again, Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess he thinks he can trust me or something.”

“He wants to help you,” Tony’s friend announced. “He feels bad for you – because of your boyfriend. What was his name again?” He frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “Leroy?”

Harry almost laughed – but the thought of Louis made his chest constrict so tightly that he couldn’t speak to correct the error. He was too busy focusing on not letting the tears, which were pricking painfully like splinters in his eyes, roll down his cheeks. That would be showing weakness, which was something he was determined not to do. If he wanted to convince Derek and his gang that he was a threat, someone not to be tampered with, then first he had to persuade everyone else. Crying because someone had almost said Louis’ name was perhaps  _not_ the best sign of masculinity he could show. His lips pressed together in a line straighter than a ruler as he determinedly pushed back the emotions that threatened to drown him, and ignored everything. They were talking about someone else, he told himself, not L – not  _him_. It didn’t help much, but it helped a little, and a little was enough for Harry. Enough to last him through the next couple of minutes, anyway…enough to last him until the subject was changed. Hopefully that would happen fairly soon.

“Nah,” Tony disagreed, poking his friend, “Laurence.”

“Louis,” Harry corrected immediately, unable to listen to their debate about what Louis’ name was for a second longer. After all, soon the inevitable ‘Lewis’ was bound to come up, and that was something that had always irritated both him and Louis beyond belief.

Tony clicked his fingers. “ _That’s_ it! Louis.” He looked satisfied, like he’d recalled the name himself instead of being told it. “Kylie’s a big teddy bear at heart. He’s well soft. He’ll want to help you find your guy as soon as possible. That’s why he gave you a gun so quick; so you can learn how to use it as quick as possible.”

His friend tutted at Harry. “I don’t envy you, man. I wouldn’t want  _my_ partner getting mixed up with Derek’s lot. They’re not exactly gentle.”

“None of us are gentle,” Tony scoffed, whacking the other man over the back of the head. “If we were gentle, we wouldn’t be cut out for this.”

“Speak for yourself!  _I’m_ gentle. I’m super gentle. I’m  _cuddly_  – like a whatsit…chipmunk.”

“A  _chipmunk_?” Tony squawked. “What are you on about? A  _chipmunk._  You’re on drugs, my friend.” He looked disgusted. “Bloody  _chipmunk,_ ” he grumbled.

Wearily, Harry said “Makes no difference to me  _why_ he let me have it so quick. The point is that he did, and I got a bit of practice in, but I need to work on it. That way I can save him. Louis.” It was hard to say the name; it felt like he was choking it past the lump in his throat, and he had to massage his chest afterwards because it ached so much.

Niall shook his head admiringly. “I don’t know you did it, man. I couldn’t  _touch_ one of those things. I’d be scared of killing someone the second I looked at them.”

“That,” a familiar voice said, “is why when practicing, we keep the safety on.”

All four of them flinched and turned, having not heard Kylie approach. Harry managed a brief smile before turning back to his breakfast, Tony appeared apologetic for his previous slip up, the guy he had been demonstrating on tried to look helpless, and Niall’s eyes grew enormously wide as he blinked in shock at the man standing directly next to him.

“Can I see your hands?” Kylie asked abruptly.

Although taken aback, Niall was nothing if not complacent, and he instantly held out his hands for inspection. Kylie accepted Niall’s fingers and examined the backs of Niall’s hand first, then flipped it over to look at his palm. A huge smile spread across his face.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed. “Oh, you’re just  _perfect_! This is…this is amazing! Oh my god, we have to get a gun into your hands! Have you  _seen_ this?” Grabbing Niall’s wrist, he waved the Irish boy’s hand in the air in delight. “I’ve never seen a pair of hands that were so  _made_  for a gun in all my life!”

Niall was horrified. “What? I’m not holding a gun!”

“But you’re  _perfect_!” Kylie insisted. “The shape of your fingers…the length of them…my god, you’re ideal. A gun in your hands would look so good!”

Seemingly, Niall couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or worried. “I couldn’t!”

“You don’t have to,” Harry promised, and then looked uncertainly at Kylie. “Does he? I don’t know if he  _could_. He’d just wave it around!”

“It would be beautiful anyway,” Kylie declared, still oozing with praise for Niall’s apparently perfect hands. “I have a gun that would fit you  _so_ well…” He looked longingly at Niall. “Choosing the right gun is crucial. It’s kind of like Harry Potter. If you don’t have the right wand, it doesn’t work properly. It’s the same with guns. Guns have to  _fit_ you. They have to feel just right in your hand. And your hands look like any gun would melt into your grip and be amazing there.”

“A gun is a gun,” Niall said stubbornly, “and a Harry Potter wand is a stick.”

“ _Please_ ,” Kylie whined. “Just hold one? And let me look at it. Please.”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated. Here he was, ready to learn, eager to grab a gun and learn how to use it, and shoot whoever he needed to in order to save Louis. And there was Niall, terrified at the thought of even  _touching_ a gun, being begged to use one because apparently he had good hands. Harry didn’t resent Niall – he was too cheerful and well-meaning to be disliked in any way – but he did feel a little bit wistful that Kylie seemed so certain that he was ideal for handling a gun. Kylie was the expert, but Harry wasn’t so sure that Niall was cut out for that kind of thing; he couldn’t watch a horror movie without wincing or sometimes hiding his eyes, no matter how many times Harry and Louis shouted “waste of ketchup!” or “scrape that jam off your chest, woman!” (something which they had done several times in the past month or so since Niall had been released, whilst enjoying horror movie marathons. It had been a good way to relax from the stress of all the threats that had been heaped upon their shoulders.) Still, Harry understood a little – he was far less happy watching scary movies without one of Louis’ long arms thrown carelessly around his shoulders. When there was a frightening bit, he could rest his head on Louis and pretend that he was just bored, and Louis would give him a little squeeze just to show that he understood, and would murmur something about how stupidly fake a certain scene was, or offer his opinion on what sort of red food had been used to make the fake blood, or mutter some stupid joke in Harry’s ear, twisting the lines or whispering some kind of stupid sexual innuendo – and then Harry would laugh, or smirk, or even just roll his eyes, and he wasn’t afraid any more.

It helped, of course, that he had an in-depth experience of what it  _really_ looked like when someone was stabbed thirty-odd times in the chest.

The fact was that neither he nor Louis were scared by silly movies, because they had each other to curl up to, winding their fingers together, tapping each other on the arm, kissing the back of each other’s hands, playfully pulling their hair…and of course, their joking comments and the way that Louis couldn’t seem to resist narrating each film in his own way. Afterwards, if the film had been good, Louis would dissect each little piece and analyse what he thought the inner meanings were (making most of it up, but it certainly sounded convincing) whereas if it had been awful, he and Harry would act it out. Harry remembered one film about a cannibal where Louis had thoughtfully commented that he himself had contemplated cannibalism, and he thought he might have to eat Harry, just to make sure that it wasn’t for him.

Harry had gone to community service the next morning, having been ‘eaten’, and the blotchy love bites on his arms, neck and shoulders had inspired an awful lot of wolf-whistles and jokey comments from his mates. He had blushed at the thought of what they might have said if they’d seen the larger marks on his chest…and the inside of his thighs…

The point was that Harry had always been able to cuddle up to Louis if things got terrifying; Louis had always been there. Niall didn’t have anyone to cuddle up to. Now that Harry didn’t either, his prime motivation was getting that back, so that once again he  _did_ have someone he could hold if everything got to be too much. Yet the only motivation Niall had was to help Harry – and despite Niall’s best intentions, Harry wasn’t sure whether that would be enough.

Although, then again, maybe it  _would_ be enough.

“All right, then,” Niall said reluctantly, “I’m not much help to you any other way, am I? Unless you need me to pick the lock on Derek’s mini-fridge.  _That_ I can do.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I can’t promise I’ll be any good at it, but I guess I can try.”

Kylie looked thrilled. “Excellent! Oh, I  _like_ you, Niall Horan.”

“Uh…thanks, man. I like you too.” Niall looked bewildered but pleased. “Hey, Harry? Don’t shoot me, okay? And if I shoot you, I’m sorry. I’m not good at aiming things.” He snorted in amusement and slung his arm around Harry’s shoulder in a very clumsy, but sweet hug. It wasn’t the kind of loving, adoring embrace that he was used to getting from Louis, but Harry wouldn’t have wanted it to be. That job was for Louis and Louis alone. Yet he needed a hug right then, and Niall was good at hugging. He was  _very_ good at hugging. Harry felt a lot less alone right then.

“Nobody’s shooting anyone,” Kylie said quickly, “because  _I’m_ putting the safety on. And taking the bullets out. I’m not taking any chances.” He too gave a short laugh, and Niall joined in, amused by the idea that he could shoot someone even with the safety on, so that the trigger couldn’t possibly be pulled.  Harry was feeling far too nostalgic to laugh, but he managed a small smile.

Harry thought to himself as the three of them headed off to the weapons cabinet that  _he_  liked Niall too, and he was happy that Niall Horan was his best friend. If Louis wasn’t around to hug him, he wanted someone else who was equally cuddly to put an arm around him for a while – and Niall was quite happy to do that. He was lucky to have a friend like Niall Horan.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry was beginning to wonder whether it had been some divine intentions that nothing in his life would ever go quite right. Perhaps things had started okay for him and he hadn’t been grateful enough for it. Whatever the reason was, he hated it. He hated everyone and everything in the world, because no matter how hard he tried to do things right, despite the fact that he  _knew_ he was good, and he  _knew_ he could handle this, nobody seemed to notice his efforts. While Harry had flawlessly mastered the correct way to hold a gun in mere minutes, Niall still trembled in distaste just  _looking_ at one, and yet Kylie was still excitedly trying to force the weapon into Niall’s hands. Loading, unloading and reloading the same gun over and over again was doing Harry’s head in. At first it had been good for him, having something to occupy his hands while his mind screamed profanities, but the movement was so effortless now, so perfectly executed every time, that it made no difference at all. It was so simple to him that he didn’t even have to pay attention to what he was doing as he slipped the bullets in, clicked the mechanisms into place, then unfastened everything and dropped them into his palm again. Repeated the motions. Then again, and again.

Perhaps everything was bad for him because he hadn’t appreciated things enough. The thought that he might have taken Louis for granted even once caused his hands to tremble as he once again reloaded the gun.

~*~

  _“Louis?” Harry asked breathlessly._

_They were lying on Louis’ bed, and quite a lot of their clothes were on the floor rather than on them…not that either of them were complaining. Harry’s shirt had dropped to the ground, and Louis’ was well on the way, slipping off his shoulders. They were both smiling, and as Louis turned his head to look at Harry, the younger boy rolled carefully on top of Louis and smiled even more, wearing a grin that the Cheshire cat would have been proud of. Ironic, considering that he was from Cheshire  in the first place. For a while, they stayed like that, Harry giving Louis his warm weight – then he dipped down and nudged Louis with his nose, rubbing both of their noses together teasingly. For a moment or so, he hovered above Louis, then his proud grin softened into a little smile and he repeated the motion, brushing their noses together again. He loosened his grip and then twisted, rolling onto his back again and staring at the ceiling as he linked his fingers with Louis’._

_“Yeah?” asked Louis, smiling at the ceiling as well. His fingers twitched and curled around Harry’s long ones, and he closed his eyes._

_“I, uh…I don’t really know what we’re supposed to do after this.”_

_Rather than admitting that he didn’t have much clue either, Louis allowed Harry another smile and rolled onto his side to face him. After a while, Harry copied, and their foreheads touched as they made eye contact. Harry was uncertain, clearly, but with an expression like that on Louis’ face, he couldn’t be uncomfortable. Reaching out, Louis brushed a delicate line down Harry’s cheekbone, his expression gentle._

_“We can do whatever we like,” Louis assured him, “for once.” He couldn’t help but smile again. “We could do everything…or nothing.”_

_“Everything sounds good,” Harry whispered cheekily. After that bold statement, he paused, uncertain again. “But I don’t –”_

_“Shhhhh.” Pressing his finger against Harry’s lips, Louis whispered back “neither do I. I haven’t a clue. But let’s put it this way; here we are, and whatever we do is up to us. Up to_ you.  _It’s your choice what we do next. What would you_ like _to do?”_

_Harry leaned in and kissed him carefully – then harder, lips tangling and tongues sliding, surprising Louis with his intensity. That lasted for a minute or so, and then, laughing at Louis’ shock, Harry wriggled backwards again, biting his now shiny lower lip, amused and with a decidedly flirtatious expression on his face._

_“That,” he said._

_Louis grinned. “Well, that’s as good a place to start as any.”_

_Harry put his arms around Louis, his hands resting lightly on the other boy’s neck, and gave him a genuine, if worried, smile. “Promise me you won’t hate me if I don’t do it right.”_

_It was such an honest, pleading, anxious question that Louis couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly, touched by Harry’s query. He touched the younger boy’s cheek once again, reassuring, kind, looking to comfort him. His finger stroked up and down Harry’s face, fitting perfectly into the pretty little dimple on Harry’s cheek, and his other hand found a handful of silky curls that ran through his fingers like liquid._

_“How could I hate you for something as stupid as that?” he asked softly. “Come on, I’m hardly an expert, am I? Besides, if it’s you…if it’s you, how could you not do it right? You do_ everything  _right, Harry. …Which sounds really gushing and girly, but it’s true. Anything we do tonight is just a test run, just an experiment, but even if we just lay here all night and poked each other with our little fingers, it would still be perfect.” He laughed. “I love you, Harry.”_

_“I love you too. That’s why I want to do this right.”_

_Caressing his cheek, Louis said simply, “Who’s to say there’s a right or a wrong? I take these things as they come. We don’t even have to do it if that’s not what you want.”_

_Harry’s hand drifted downwards to Louis’ thigh, and his thumb stroked downwards, his eyes still locked on Louis’. Swallowing hard, Louis felt himself start to tremble longingly, and although he was determined to stay in control of himself so that Harry didn’t feel pressured into doing anything he was uncomfortable with, it was pretty clear that it was going to be shockingly difficult. Already he was shaking with the effort of not tearing Harry’s clothes off and doing all manner of things that he had never done before. Nervous? He was terrified. But as long as Harry was happy with it, that wouldn’t stop him._

_“Oh,” Harry said softly, “it’s definitely what I want.”_

_Nodding, Louis promised, “We’ll take it slow, okay? You feel uncomfortable, even for a second, then you tell me, understand?”_

_“As long as you promise to do the same. Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re impervious to being nervous about this.”_

_“Nervousness, I can handle. It’d be a bit mad if I_ wasn’t  _nervous. But I mean it; I want you to be one hundred percent sure about this.”_

_“I’m one hundred percent sure about_ you.  _Everything else…probably ninety-nine point nine percent,” Harry admitted with a sheepish grin. “But even the nought-point-nought-one percent is telling me that I should do this. It’s all I’ve wanted to do for so long now, and after thinking I was going to have to wait ten years for it…right now, I don’t think I could wait another ten_ minutes _.”_

_Louis kissed his bare shoulder. “Okay. I get the message. Your horny teenage hormones want me to do something about them. I think I can deal with that.” He grinned._

_“I don’t deserve you,” Harry said softly as he settled more comfortably into Louis’ arms, readying himself for the further removal of clothes and for the relentless mashing of mouths that was soon to come. He, for one, couldn’t wait._

_“Oh, you do,” Louis told him. “In fact, you probably deserve better.”_

_Then they sank back against the mattress, and Harry’s lips were too busy to put him right._

~*~

Harry almost dropped the gun at the intensity of the memory. That had been their first night, and he would never forget the feel of Louis’ skin, warm and silky against his, or how gentle his hands had been, how before every new movement he had paused to make sure that Harry was still okay with it all. Neither of them had the slightest idea what they were doing at the time, but Louis had given the impression that he did, and that had been reassuring. Of course, they’d had a lot of practice; they were far better at it now, but Harry didn’t think he’d ever forget the very first night. Nobody ever did, he supposed, but there had just been something so  _special_ about it. They had been clumsy, nervous and a bit rubbish, but that had only made things better, in the end.

Across the room, Kylie nudged Niall lightly with the gun, and Niall squealed. Seemingly, Kylie hadn’t realized that the only thing which scared Niall more than the weapon was Kylie himself, and the only way he was going to be persuaded to hold it was if Kylie commanded him to; he was secretly that scared of him.

The memory had made Harry feel a little sick with longing, and his free arm moved to curl around his aching stomach as he lifted the gun, pointing it at the opposite wall. Already, at least fifty bullets were embedded in the soft plaster, where no one had bothered to dig them out. Kylie was too focused on Niall to notice what he was doing, and there was no one else in the room because Niall hadn’t wanted an audience to witness him squeaking like a ten year old girl at the sight of a weapon that most of the men handled with ease. Harry grimly started fiddling with the safety, having no idea what he was doing but knowing that if he flicked the safety off, if he did  _something_ , maybe Kylie would actually  _help_ him instead of pleading uselessly with Niall, who thus far had been a well-meaning but hopeless cause.

~*~

_“Lou?”_

_“Yes, Harry?”_

_“Why do you love me?”_

_The question caught Louis by surprise. Seeing as he’d been sat with Harry’s head cradled in his lap for the past half hour, stroking Harry’s sweaty hair, he’d been expecting a beg for paracetamol, or a plea for kisses to be pressed onto his warm, clammy forehead, or a request for a cold drink or a blanket or some other thing that ill people liked to ask for. Harry didn’t  usually moan much when he felt sick; he just got on with it, but it was Louis’ day off, and thus far, Louis had been enjoying the opportunity to baby him. The innocent, feverish, childish question wavered in Harry’s thick, flu-tinged voice, and he was caught so off-guard that he couldn’t think of an answer for a moment. His hand continued methodically smoothing damp curls off Harry’s forehead while he considered._

_“I love you because you’ve made mistakes,” he began, “but you learnt from them. You were sorry. You’ve done stupid things, but you’ve done your best to make up for them. Every day you teach me how to be a better person – ironic, really, seeing as you’re the one who’s done time – and you help me learn things about myself, and about other people. You understand people better than I do – again, that’s ironic, because I’m the psychiatrist and all…but you know me, and everyone else, so well that it surprises me. You can make me laugh by saying the most stupid, irrelevant things, and by making the most immature jokes I’ve ever heard. I’ve heard five year olds tell more sophisticated jokes than you, yet I can’t help but laugh at every single one of yours just because of the expression on your face when you tell them. You never gave up on me, even when I was being useless and not helping you. I’m not perfect, but the way you look at me sometimes makes me feel like I am. And that, Harry Styles –” he laid a tender kiss on Harry’s clammy forehead, pushing a load of curls out of the way so that he could get a clear view of it “ – is why I love you.”_

_Pleased, Harry considered the response for a while, smiling slightly while Louis’ cool fingers continued to soothingly stroke his hair. His eyes were glazed with illness and cold medicine, and Louis wasn’t entirely sure how much of that he would remember the next day, if any of it, but he was glad he’d had an excuse to say it anyway. Sometimes, Harry needed reminding how amazing he was. But Louis couldn’t help but be curious; it was in his nature, and soon a question was burning him as much as the heat from Harry’s fever, and he couldn’t help but ask it out loud._

_“Harry, why do_ you  _love_ me _?” he asked curiously._

_He was expecting a similarly passionate response, but bearing in mind that Harry’s head was clouded with a buzzing headache, medicine and the thick, heavy thoughts that came with a fever, perhaps he shouldn’t have anticipated anything particularly eloquent. Harry forced himself into a sitting position, propping himself up, and gave Louis a very soppy smile._

_“You’re pretty,” he said stupidly, “and you make me feel good. Louis, my head hurts.” This last comment was made so pathetically that Louis couldn’t help snorting with laughter._

_“Right,” he said, amused, “okay.” He patted Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, love, let’s get you into bed. You’re sick as a dog.”_

_“Woof,” Harry mumbled, but he sounded too feeble to be funny._

_Louis slid an arm underneath his shoulders, ready to support him, then shrugged as he realized that Harry wasn’t in much of a state to be walking anywhere. In the end, he yanked him upwards and ended up cradling him in his arms like a giant, lanky baby, tutting fondly at him._

_“What am I going to do with you?”_

_Feverish, Harry was almost as nonsensical as he was when drunk, and he cheerfully came out with a mouthful of obscene and sexual suggestions which Louis couldn’t help but laugh at, although he tried his very best to look disapproving._

_“Maybe later, sweet-pea,” he said lightly, nudging Harry’s forehead with his own, “I think you need to sleep off this bug first, don’t you?”_

_As he carried the boy into their bedroom, Harry sleepily opened his eyes and fixed him with an almost childlike gaze, and he continued to stare as Louis kindly tucked him up and patted the duvet up around his chin. He waited until Louis had sat down beside him on the bed before he spoke again, sounding wistful._

_“Louis…I can’t really tell you…right now. Words won’t come.” He waved a hand vaguely. “My head’s a bit…ugh. But I do love you. M’not good at saying why right now…but I do. I love you a lot. With everything I have, everything I’ve ever had, and everything I’ll ever have.”_

_Louis swooped down and pressed a kiss onto Harry’s hot, dry lips. “I know,” he said softly. “I love you too.”_

~*~

 

Harry gave a little gasp and closed his eyes. The memory of that day had always been a little fuzzy, foggy and clouded by illness; he’d never remembered it so well. A little moan slipped out of his mouth. The next day, he’d more than made up for what he hadn’t said right then…but Louis… _Louis._  His hands were shaking so badly that he knocked a catch underneath the gun and felt something click out of place. Blinking, Harry discovered that suddenly the trigger would give willingly beneath his fingers. Something between a laugh and a sob fractured his face, becoming a twisted, tear-filled smile as his hand shook even harder.

He was holding a loaded gun, that could go off at any second, and the tremors running through him were like tiny earthquakes, so large that even the slightest twitch of his index finger could cause him to squeeze the trigger, and the gun would go off. Any sane person would have cringed away from the gun, hurled it away from them and run as far away from it as they could get. Any sane person would have clicked the safety back on, put the gun carefully down, and fled. Any sane person would have given it to someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Too bad Harry wasn’t feeling very sane right then.

His finger tightened on the trigger. He’d never fired a gun before, so he’d never realized how noisy it was, or how hard it was to keep the thing straight when it bucked so violently in your hand, or how much it shocked you, feeling the bullet explode out of it and fling itself at the wall. He didn’t know what gunpowder was _supposed_ to smell like, but to him it smelt like melted pencils and hot metal. Lowering the gun in shock, he stared blankly at the new, neat little round hole in the plaster without saying a word, blinking back his tears.

Hands were on his shoulders, grabbing him fiercely, and suddenly Kylie was growling in his ear, “What the  _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” He punctuated the question with a fierce shake. “That was a bloody stupid thing to do! You’ve never fired a gun before in your life! What on  _earth_ made you decide to do that? How did you know it wouldn’t backfire? Knowing your luck, the bullet could have ricocheted right off that wall and embedded itself right in your tiny brain!” Prodding Harry very sharply in the middle of the forehead, he glared for a moment or so. Still, admiration won out over anger after a minute, and he admitted grudgingly, “That was a damn good shot, though, for your first try. Reckon you can do it again?”

Expressionlessly, Harry lifted the gun and shot, so flawlessly that second bullet flew into the exact same hole as the first and ended up driving the original bullet further into the plaster. Wiping his sweaty forehead, Harry closed his eyes and had to sniff hard to keep control of himself.

Meanwhile, Kylie was applauding. “You’re a bloody idiot, but you’re the best shot I’ve ever had. I think we’ll keep you. You could do with a bit of extra tutoring; your hold is horribly sloppy, it’s actually causing me physical pain to watch – but other than that, and a bit of common sense, there’s very little we can teach you.” He patted Harry on the back. “Well done, kid,” he said gently. “Well done.”

Harry barely had time to thrust the gun into Kylie’s grasp before he buried his face in his hands.


	17. Chapter 17

“You won’t get a word out of me,” Louis promised. “Like I’d betray him. Like I’d  _ever_ betray him. Your lot, they’re loyal to you because they’re scared you’ll blow their brains out if they do something you don’t like – Harry and I are loyal to each other because we  _love_ each other, and we trust each other. Probably that’s a feeling you won’t be familiar with. The truth is, I don’t even care, because I will  _never_ let him down. Ever. And if you think I will…I think you need to re-evaluate the way you look at life, because really, you have  _no_ idea what the real meaning of loyalty is.”

It was the end of what had been a very long, dramatic and impressionable speech, but irritatingly, Derek didn’t seem at all interested. He looked up from his nails, which he had been examining, and raised a thick eyebrow.

“Are you  _quite_ finished?” he asked pointedly.

Breathing heavily after his impassioned rant, Louis asked “Would you let me continue even if I wasn’t?”

“No,” Derek admitted cheerfully, and then he lashed out once more. His large fist collided with Louis’ cheek, splodges of red and green were painted messily across Louis’ vision, and he sprawled back to the floor again with a low groan.

This half-conversation had been going on for some time, and Louis had long since stopped hoping that it would soon be over. Derek was good at hitting people. So far, it was too soon for bruises to be forming, and the earliest blows had been too soft to leave much of a mark, but Derek was beginning to get bored, and the more bored he got, the harder he punched. Still, that wasn’t going to affect Louis. He was determined to be strong.  _Harry_ would never have betrayed their secrets, and he didn’t intend to either. Perhaps it was worse because Derek didn’t want secrets that Louis could have given away more easily – or made up on the spot – like what Harry had been imprisoned for in the first place, or who he might have been able to rely on for help. No, Derek sought humiliation, and his questions were the most embarrassingly intimate ones that Louis had ever heard, questions like ‘when was the first time he told you he loved you?’ and ‘what attracts him the most when you’re together?’ Louis couldn’t imagine  _why_ Derek would want to know these things, except to humiliate him. At first he had wondered whether Derek had some kind of twisted crush on Harry, but he had worked out pretty quickly that this wasn’t the case; the man was just sadistic and vicious, and knew that demanding these answers would hurt Louis – and, in turn, Harry – far more than queries that might actually have been of use.

Sitting up, Louis wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand, swiping scarlet droplets away from his mouth with a grimace. His face was stiffening from the relentless punching; he knew it would be swollen by the next day. Surprisingly, apart from his eyes watering in pain, and the odd involuntary yelp, he’d said very little, and displayed such a disappointing reaction to the attacks that Derek was almost more infuriated by his lack of pleading than his silence. That was satisfaction in itself, to know that he was taunting the man by saying nothing, and Louis would have smiled if the movement hadn’t stretched his lip too much.

“I could make this so much easier for you, you know,” Derek offered, his voice a low, almost seductive murmur. Louis could practically  _feel_ the words crawling across his skin, and he shuddered a little. “Just answer my questions, and you can go back to your room and clean up. And I’ll get you another sandwich.”

Louis didn’t really  _like_ the room he’d been relocated to; it was smaller, stuffy, and had no window and no furniture, and definitely no en suite – but he felt that he knew where he stood now, and he would rather be trapped in a cramped, unfriendly room than left in a room that was full of surprises, where he never knew what to expect. He wouldn’t have wanted to go back to that room even if Derek had offered sincerely, without wanting anything in return. It was almost amusing to shake his head in refusal. Besides, the offer of food wasn’t tempting; the only thing swimming more than his head was his stomach, and he felt that if he even swallowed so much as a crumb, he’d bring the entire contents of his stomach back up onto the wooden floor at Derek’s feet. Dizzy, Louis met Derek’s cold stare head on, determined not to seem scared.

“You’re a brave man,” admitted Derek, “I expected you to squeal more.”

“Oh, I’m full of surprises,” Louis said dryly, as Derek’s hand swung again and his fist came looming towards him. Instinctively, he flinched a little, but even though the punch was slow enough that he could have dodged it easily enough, he didn’t duck out of the way. Just before the glancing blow caught him right in the face, Derek stopped dead, hand hovering millimetres away from Louis’ sore skin. His knuckles lightly grazed Louis’ cheek, and then he leaned back again, dropping his hand. Louis shivered a little in disgust at the contact.

“As you can see, so am I.” Derek cast an arm out to indicate the room. “How do you feel about your new accommodation?”

Throwing his gaze around the room, Louis examined the place. Barely ten minutes after Louis had finished pleading down the phone to Harry, Derek had requested one of his burly, silent friends to escort Louis down the corridor a few hundred metres, and he had been transferred to a room far quieter and less nice than the one he had been in before. Far more simplistic. His new room was definitely clean, but other than that there was very little that could be said about it. There were no furnishings, no carpets, no windows…the only things in the room were the two of them: Louis, still maintaining his dignified silence, and Derek, calculating with a cool glance where best to aim his next punch. The walls were dull, unimaginative beige, the dark wooden slats were mahogany. Forget eating off it; that floor was scrubbed so clean that you could have performed a complicated operation on it without feeling the need to wipe it down first. He could almost see his reflection in the shining wood.

“It’s…clean,” Louis said eventually.

“That it is,” Derek agreed evenly, “but very little else. It’s not exactly an exciting place.”

“Neither was the first one,” Louis pointed out.

“True.”

Derek lunged, and Louis danced out of the way. His enemy’s eyes lit up in triumph, and he almost swore in annoyance that he’d betrayed himself by showing that he wanted to avoid the punch – but he tilted his head on one side and smirked, a sassy, taunting expression intended to set Derek’s teeth on edge.

“Wouldn’t you prefer that you were in there, though? It may not be interesting, but at least there’s furniture; you can’t deny that there was a far better standard of living in there. Would you prefer to answer my questions and get back to where I know you’d like to be, or would you rather that I hit you?”

Louis considered. “If the alternative is having to give you an in-depth description of my love life, I think I’d like you to hit me.”

Derek threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I like you. I like your sense of humour. It’s very dry – I find that refreshing; most people are too afraid of me to try and make me laugh.”

“That wasn’t a joke.”

Laugh dying in his throat, Derek’s eyes narrowed with concentration, turning harsh once again. Suddenly emotionless, he swung, and his knuckles cracked as he hit Louis in exactly the wrong place, hissing in pain as his hand bounced off one of Louis’ cheekbones. More infuriated that he had hurt himself than by anything Louis had done, Derek shook his hand and winced, flexing and contracting his fingers, then compensated for it with another hard punch.

“It’s a shame that you seem so intent on defying me,” announced Derek. “I think we could be good friends. I enjoy your company; your personality fascinates me.”

“Your definition of ‘friends’ is very different to mine,” Louis told him, folding his arms across his chest. “ _Your_  friends are forced to do what you say. You admitted yourself just a second ago that they live in fear of provoking you. Friendship is about equality; yes, I  _am_ intent on defying you, but if you were interested in an actual friendship that wouldn’t deter you anyway. Friendship and slavery are two very different things. I’m not interested in blindly obeying you because I think you’re going to poke me in the ribs with a gun, or smack me over the head. If you want to be my friend, you could stop smacking me every time I do or say something you don’t like.”

“Oh, that’s very harsh. I think you have a biased opinion of me based on what has happened in the past, and my treatment of your…partner, as it were.”

“Fiancé,” Louis corrected.

Raising an eyebrow, Derek said “Oh, congratulations.” He sounded anything but sincere.

Grunting, Louis answered, “My opinion, biased though it may be, won’t change. So far all of your behaviour has perfectly reflected what I thought of you before, and what Harry told me; I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t start singing your praises from the rooftops.”

“Enough people do that already, thank you very much. I wish people didn’t congratulate me on my brilliance so often. It’s making me bigheaded.” Examining his knuckles, Derek looked thoughtful and smiled down at his hand.

“Clearly,” murmured Louis.

He couldn’t help but imagine the man gloating so unbearably over Harry while he and his friends had been attacking the younger boy similarly. It made him feel sick with worry, and anger, and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“You’re not afraid of me, Louis. Are you?”

“I’m not,” Louis lied. “I get the feeling that you’d like me to be.”

“Oh, I’d enjoy it, certainly; I’m sadistic enough. But I’m enjoying watching you stand up to me even more.” Derek grinned. “You dislike me. I like your spirit. We make a good team, you and I.”

Louis made a noise of disgust.

“You have to choose now, though,” added Derek dispassionately. “Which would you rather? We could do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”

Staring blankly, Louis blinked, uncertain of how he was supposed to respond.

“Which would you rather?” Derek repeated. “I could keep on punching you all day…or I could go get you some food and bandages, and make things a lot more comfortable for you. Which is it to be?”

Jerking his chin upwards in defiance, Louis reached up and flicked back an unruly strand of hair that had fallen across his forehead and felt the rasp of stubble on his chin as his hand brushed past it. His face felt gritty and horrible; he’d always hated how stubble felt when it first started growing, although Harry seemed to like it at first; he often remarked that it was sexy. Louis didn’t  _feel_ very sexy. He felt messy. Mopping his mouth one more time, he deliberately caught Derek’s harsh grey eye with his solemn dark blue ones, and steadied his resolve.

“Hit me,” he said.

Derek obliged, his massive hand whacking Louis solidly across the face, knocking his nose and making his jaw crack horribly as something came loose in his mouth. Like spilt paint, colours danced haphazardly across his vision with the force of the blow, and he wobbled slightly for a second or two, fighting to stay upright. After a short, considering pause, Derek’s fist slammed into him again, punching him squarely in the nose, and that started bleeding fiercely as well. For vanity’s sake, Louis hoped that it wasn’t broken; he didn’t much want a crooked nose. He was sure that even Harry couldn’t find him sexy with a crooked nose. The looseness in his mouth turned out to be a tooth; a molar, thankfully, which wouldn’t show too much. He rolled it around with his tongue, flicking it around his mouth, and then as his vision clouded over with darkness, he spat it out, right into Derek’s face. He didn’t stay conscious for long enough to see whether he’d hit his target, but if the tooth had landed where he had intended, it would have bounced right off Derek’s long, squat nose.


	18. Chapter 18

“Excellent!” Kylie exclaimed, “that was excellent! Again!”

Harry raised the gun in the motion that was quickly becoming automatic, steadied himself, and then aimed and fired all in one swift movement. As the gun twitched in response in his hand and he watched the bullet fly towards the wall he had been instructed to aim at, he inwardly rolled his eyes. If he hadn’t been so determined to make an excellent impression on Kylie and everyone who was allied with him, he might have allowed his boredom to escape in a long, drawn out sigh. He’d been shooting at the same blank stretch of wall for a good hour or so now without a break, and although he wasn’t complaining, it was hardly the most interesting of activities. At first, he’d been left alone with only Niall and Kylie to watch his progress, but at some point, Kylie had amassed everyone in the building to come and see for themselves, and Harry could hardly fail to notice the murmurs of interest every time his gun fired. He also could hardly fail to notice that every woman in the room was eyeing him in fascination. There were only ten of them, and he was pretty sure that rumours spread quickly and everyone knew that he was gay, but their interest didn’t seem to be waning.

Harry was so bored by the continuous motions that his concentration faltered, and so did his hand. The next bullet didn’t drive into the same hole as the others; it skimmed the edge of the first bullet-hole and buried itself in the wall beside it. Kylie pretended not to notice the fault and continued to appraise Harry eagerly, casting out a hand to point out the otherwise perfect row of bullet-holes in the wall.

“You see that?” called Kylie. “That boy hasn’t even been here for a full day yet, and look at him! Perfect! Flawless! Some of that, obviously, is talent; he has a gift, that much is obvious. But not all of it. He’s been practicing solidly for at least three hours – has anybody else here ever shown that amount of dedication? Turn!”

This last comment was directed at Harry, and he obediently rotated, turning to face the other wall to his left, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Already, he knew what was coming next; he could have chanted Kylie’s next command along in perfect synch with him. That was both reassuring and extremely dull; he wasn’t sure whether he preferred it that way or disliked it.

“I want  _all of you_ to master the precision that this boy has,” ordered Kylie. “Don’t whine about not having his motivation, either – I don’t  _care._ I don’t give a damn. Don’t tell me that you can’t fight because you haven’t had anything taken away, because if you do, I’ll  _take_ something away. At the moment, he has nothing left to lose. That’s why we’re going to take Derek down – so that he can’t take any more people’s lives away from them. That’s motivation enough. Harry, shoot!” he barked.

Before the order had even been given, Harry whirled, jerked the gun upwards, and once again, he shot. This time his aim was perfect and he couldn’t help but give a small, satisfied smirk as he watched yet another small hole explode into the plaster, little white flakes bursting everywhere. He nodded proudly, and on the other side of the room, the sound of Niall’s applause shattered the calm that had been left in the aftermath of the shot. A few people laughed at the blond boy’s enthusiasm, amused at how easily excited he was, but most of them were too busy either looking determined or throwing Harry jealous glances, envious of his skill and the rapidity with which Kylie had taken to him. Sheepishly turning the safety back on, Harry slotted the gun into the waistband of his jeans, causing several people to give him aghast looks. Quickly advancing on him, Kylie grabbed the gun and slid it out of the loops, giving Harry a softened but disapproving expression.

“Ah…maybe you oughtn’t do that,” he chastised gently, “unless you want to shoot something off. I doubt Louis would be all too pleased if I returned you to him with half of your equipment missing.”

Laughter rippled throughout the group, but Harry could barely muster a smile. Penis jokes? Usually he would have been in his element. But he couldn’t hear anyone mention Louis’ name without wanting to curl up in a ball and cry, so laughter was a little bit beyond him. He cast his gaze onto the floor and sealed his lips tightly into a thin line without responding. Seeming to realize that he had been less than tactful, Kylie changed the subject, clapping his hands together for attention.

“Right, lads. And ladies, of course.” He flashed a well-worn grin across the room, and several of the girls tittered and pretended to swoon, although seeing as six out of the ten of them were still checking Harry out, the effect was rather lost. “I want you all armed and practicing, understand me? I want everyone as accurate as him. Or at least getting there. Start shooting; if we haven’t enough guns, share and share alike. Good old fashioned courtesy no longer stands; whoever gets there first gets first go. Oh, and someone go and teach Horan over there how to hold an empty gun. First person to convince him that it won’t bite him gets the rest of the morning off.” He snapped his fingers. “Hop to it!”

Instantly, a flurry of excitement arose and the twelve fastest people detached themselves from the group and rushed to Niall’s side, eager for the reward that he would bring, and the closest person to him began brandishing a gun at him, enthusiastically waving it mere inches in front of his face. Niall flinched and backed away in horror, staring in distaste at the weapon.

“Shoving it up his nose doesn’t count, Brandon,” called Kylie, “you just have to persuade him to hold it. Now get a move on, everyone; perfection doesn’t come from just standing around!”

As everyone else began carrying out orders, Kylie wandered over to Harry and clapped a hand on his shoulder. Harry was too busy holding his breath and staying silent to do anything other than stand there and try to hold himself together.

“Sorry,” Kylie said apologetically, “that was stupid. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Harry shook his head to dispel the memories that were drifting back to the surface. “Doesn’t matter,” he mumbled. “Doesn’t matter at all.”

Patting him on the back, Kylie asked, “You want a minute?”

Harry’s answering smile was forced, and accompanied by a shaky sigh as the smile wobbled unsteadily. “I, ah…yeah. Yeah.” He almost laughed at how much his voice quivered.

“Go on. Go get some alone time, okay? We’ll wait for you.”

Stumbling out, Harry left the room and ended up in his own. For the first minute or so, he wandered up and down the room trying to hold everything in – and then he gave up, the floodgates opened, and he stood with his arms wrapped around himself, inhaling the smell of Louis’ jumper. He got to the point where he almost convinced himself that Louis was holding him, murmuring rubbish into his ear like he always used too. Only ‘almost’ wasn’t enough. Suddenly, a huge wave of anger clawed its way up his throat and he dragged the jumper over his head, almost ripping it off like he couldn’t bear to have it touch him any longer. He hurled it to the floor and gave it a very feeble kick, more of a nudge, really, with the tip of his toe – and then just as suddenly, he was sobbing angrily, giving the jumper the worst look he was capable of.

“You had to be so bloody lazy, didn’t you?” he said harshly. “You couldn’t have double-locked the door, just once? I did tell you to. But you wouldn’t listen to me.”

Of course, the jumper had no reply, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a bit better. At least he had said something. He stared down at the jumper almost numbly – and then, more anger overwhelmed him, and his fingers curled into fists as he glowered at the heap of fabric on the floor.

“And now I’m on my own. Because you couldn’t be bothered to lock the bloody door, you got carried off and I got left on my own. And now I’m talking to your jumper like a proper nutter, and I don’t even care – and you probably don’t either. You don’t even  _know._ And it’s not fair because I just want you back and miss you so much –” he cut off, almost choking on his anger. “This is so unfair. Why me? Why us?” Snatching the jumper, he buried his nose in the fabric. “Jesus. You don’t know how angry I am. And I’m sorry for being mad, because I know it isn’t right when you’re far worse off than I am, but I can’t help it, because right now it feels like you’ve abandoned me.”

He ended up sitting down and stroking the jumper helplessly like it was some kind of animal, fat tears dripping lethargically down his face and landing in lethargic splodges on the jumper, saturating the thin wool. Tears didn’t accomplish anything, and they certainly couldn’t make him feel better, but he had no inclination to try to stop them from falling.

It was hard to think that whereas only a week ago he and Louis had been in the simplest and easiest relationship that he had ever known, and now they were both in trouble…both alone…he felt a little bit sick at the thought that something which had been so flawless had been so easily destroyed. He also felt ashamed; if Louis had been there, he would have been sternly telling him to pull himself together. They had an inside joke, and Louis always used it to get through to him. Harry laughed a little bit at the thought of it, and how they had originally come up with it in the first place. So many memories…they hurt, but in a good way. If it was a choice between forgetting and being numb, or remembering and hurting, then he knew what he’d choose.

~*~

_“Oh, well_ he’s  _gay!” Louis announced around a mouthful of a ham salad sandwich, gesturing flamboyantly at the television screen. The movement was sufficiently feminine that Louis’ comment was rendered rather hypocritical by it; he looked so gay at that moment that to accuse someone else of being blatantly gay was beyond duplicity. Harry had to press his lips together to hold back a laugh._

_They were watching some silly game show together, feeding each other lazily, Louis’ arm around Harry’s wide shoulders while they watched several quavering contestants get doused with disgusting sludge if they answered any of the tricky quiz questions wrong, and the man that Louis had accused had just been sprayed with gunk. He was squealing in protest, shaking his head to dislodge a layer of slime from his hair. Louis chuckled and poked one of Harry’s dimples as he shook his head._

_“You think so?” Harry asked, examining the man critically. “He might just be a bit…” He waved a hand vaguely, lost for words. “You know.”_

_“Gay,” Louis said helpfully._

_“Are you sure?” asked Harry doubtfully._

_“Positive. My gaydar is tingling. He is_ so  _gay.”_

_“Hmm. On a scale of one to ten, one being me, ten being Alan Carr – how gay, exactly?”_

_“Eleven.” Louis told him decidedly._

_Harry raised an eyebrow. “That gay?”_

_“Gayer.”_

_Another tub of goo was emptied on top of the man’s head, and he shrieked in a weirdly high-pitched voice, flailing around and flicking dripping, soaked strands of hair out of his eyes. Harry chuckled at the sight. “You could be right.”_

_“Darling, there is no ‘could’ about it. Of course I’m right. Take it like a man!” Louis bellowed at the screen._

_“He is doing,” Harry said dryly, “that’s why he’s whinging so much. Men are all total babies. Except when they’re gay, which is why I’m sure that guy is straight.”_

_“You do have a point. Hmm.”_

_They lay still for a while, watching the screen, while Harry played absently with Louis’ fingers and traced meaningless patterns on the back of his hand. A small smile lingered on Louis’ lips as he watched the show whilst not paying full attention to it; secretly, he was concentrating on the feel of Harry’s fingers sliding on his. The silence between them was comfortable, but it left plenty of room for lots of thoughts filling Louis’ brain, and he wondered how interested Harry was in the show… and would he object if Louis interrupted it with a kiss? Which usually led to…other things. Louis considered for a while. Harry never complained while the unexpected kissing was happening – perhaps because his lips were busy – but afterwards he had been known to whine for hours if their sudden passion had interrupted one of his favourite shows, especially if he missed a bit. Moody Harry was not something Louis wanted on his hands; Harry would hold it against him forever, and the last time Harry had held something against him, Louis had ended up being his ‘sex slave’ for the night to apologise. It had certainly been an interesting experience. Harry definitely had an unusual sexual appetite…no pun intended. Although it was quite funny when he thought about it, because a mixture of chocolate and strawberry sauce had been involved, and it had taken ages to get the stains off the sheets…Louis smirked as Harry’s fingertips slid enticingly over his knuckles._

_“Maybe I should have said ‘take it like a woman’.”_

_“What?” asked Harry, laughing; he’d completely lost track of the conversation. As had Louis, almost, but he’d been able to remember what he’d been saying in the nick of time, before accidentally revealing that his mind was lingering on the time he’d been forced – though willingly – to lick strawberry flavoured sauce off Harry’s chest. He almost burst out laughing at the thought, although it wasn’t really funny._

_“Women have a far higher pain threshold,” Louis explained. “Most men are pathetic. So he needs to take it like a woman.” Louis laughed at his own comment. “Woman up!”_

_Harry snorted. “Take it like a woman. I like that. It works.”_

_Patting his cheek, Louis said amusedly, “I thought you might.” He jerked his head at the TV. “Are you even watching this crap?”_

_“Why? Did you have something else in mind that you’d rather I watched?” Harry teased._

_“You’re shameless.” Louis grabbed a handful of curls at the nape of Harry’s neck and buried his fingers in them, tugging Harry’s hair lightly at the roots. He pressed his lips to Harry’s for a moment, feeling Harry’s breath quicken as they kissed, and then he withdrew, smiling. “But I like it.”_

_“I like_ you _,” Harry said flirtatiously._

_“I like you too,” answered Louis._

_Stretching, Harry yawned, reached for the remote and shut off the TV show. His shirt rode up a little, showing the bones of one hip, and Louis nibbled his lip and watched that tantalizing flash of skin taunt him for a few seconds before it was covered again. Lazily, Harry rumpled his hair._

_“Ugh. I’m getting a coffee, you want one?”_

_“Please. Black, n –”_

_“No sugar,” Harry finished for him with a smile, “I remember.” He reached down to ruffle Louis’ hair from where he sat on the sofa, enjoying the silky feel of hair sliding past his fingers, and then patted him carefully on the head and started heading for the kitchen._

_In retaliation, Louis lunged forward and tapped him playfully, cheerfully swatting him across the backside. Laughing, Harry whirled and caught Louis’ hand before it could be snatched away, dragging him upwards off the sofa. Louis grinned at him._

_“Hey, you,” Harry said._

_“Me,” Louis agreed, a huge smile curving his lips upwards._

_Harry’s hands found Louis’ hips, and he pulled Louis towards him, pressing their bodies together, then ducked his head and touched his forehead to Louis’. They stood together for a moment or so, and Louis’ hands drifted to Harry’s shoulders and then slipped down his bare arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps and raised hairs in the wake of his touch. For a moment or so, they regarded each other, Harry’s smile fading to give way to a serious, contemplative expression. He leaned in and fitted his mouth around Louis’, caressing his fiancé’s lips with his own, first softly, and then harder, slightly more demanding. Louis murmured something intelligible against Harry’s mouth, and Harry responded by cradling Louis’ face in his hands as he kissed him again._

_“What do you think you’re doing?” murmured Harry._

_“Kissing you,” Louis responded, struggling to speak seeing as his lips were busy coaxing a reaction from Harry’s._

_Pulling away, Louis burrowed his face into Harry’s shoulder, and then affectionately nibbled his collarbone. At first it was just a gentle, playful scrape of teeth against the bones of Harry’s neck, but when Harry shivered lightly at the bite, Louis sunk his teeth in a little harder, biting down and then clinging on. Making a noise of discomfort, Harry shoved him slightly in protest, hands pushing against Louis’ chest, but Louis firmly bit him a little harder, leaving a deep ring  of mauve tooth-marks behind._

_“Ow!” Harry groaned. “What are you doing?”_

_“Mine,” Louis told him. “You’re mine.”_

_In order to speak, though, he had to remove his teeth from Harry’s neck, and Harry took the opportunity to push him backwards with an injured expression. Without bothering to wipe away the saliva that glistened on his neck, he pouted and folded his arms._

_“I am aware. Was that really necessary?” he complained._

_“You’re mine,” Louis repeated stubbornly. “I’m just making a claim to you. Like…I don’t know, showing off my ownership or something. Marking my territory.”_

_“Couldn’t you have stuck a label on me, or something?” Harry demanded. He sighed. “You’re impossible. I’m going to make coffee – don’t bite me again, or you’ll be wearing yours.” As he made his way through to the kitchen, he rubbed the purplish circle on his neck and grumbled “Bloody hurts, too!” under his breath._

_“Oh, Harry,” Louis called cheekily through to him, “take it like a woman!”_


	19. Chapter 19

“There he is!”

“Harry Styles,” someone hissed excitedly.

“I heard he shot Jeb’s hat straight off his head the other day – with just one bullet. Didn’t even graze the top of Jeb’s head; just shot it clean off.”

“You heard right. I saw him do it.”

“Really? Christ. He’s amazing. No wonder Kylie thinks so much of him.”

“Bit moody, though, isn’t he? Temperamental.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard that he rushes off crying if anyone mentions his boyfriend.”

“What, Louis?”

“Shhhhh!” came the hasty reply. “Yeah, him.”

“Weird. You think it’s true?”

“Who knows? He certainly rushes off pretty quick whenever anyone talks about him.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether to be irritated that he was the subject of gossip, annoyed that nobody seemed to have any reservations about discussing him so loudly, or pleased that they seemed both worried and impressed by his presence. He stalked down the corridor, hands in his pockets, listening to odd snatches of conversation as he passed by, and some of the whispers pleased him, but most of them made him angry, creasing his forehead as he stormed past the gossipers, feeling Louis’ jumper flap wildly in the breeze he left in his wake. What right did anyone have to judge them? He even heard somebody suggest that Louis had done a bunk and not had the guts to tell Harry – “and who could blame him? That guy is scary. He has a creepy look in his eyes. Probably a domestic abuser. This Louis guy was probably well shot of him. I’d run screaming from him if it were me.” Comments like that made Harry so furious that he was ready to slam the snide mutterer against the wall and rip him to pieces, but his protests stayed as angry snarls inside his mind, raging at the world. The people that mattered knew the truth, and that was what was really important. But he couldn’t help hating the fact that other people knew better, and worst of all, that they dared to state their judgment so boldly. It hurt – it really hurt. Harry had never thought he’d be one to take nasty comments to heart; he’d always been the thick-skinned one, always told Louis never to listen to crap like that. But now that the tables were turned, and he was on the receiving end of it all, and there was nobody to kiss his tears away and cover his ears and whisper to him to close his ears, he couldn’t seem to help listening to every harsh comment that was made – and sometimes he thought they might kill him.

Sometimes he almost thought that he preferred it that way. He’d rather die because of some bitter stories spread by critical strangers than have to live with them on his own.

He entered the weapon’s room to find a shaking Niall attempting to aim at a vaguely human-shaped outline that someone had helpfully drawn on the wall. It looked like someone had forced their friend to stand against the wall and drawn a wobbly line around them, but their artistic talent was clearly not as commendable as their enthusiasm. Niall’s hand trembled as he attempted to aim, but Harry could see that the bullet wasn’t even going to graze the side of the outline, and he would have been able to see that even if the other twelve most recent bullet holes hadn’t been Niall’s handiwork, and hadn’t also missed by such a huge margin. Sighing, a beautifully quiet noise that nobody heard, he crept up behind the blond boy, unnoticed by Niall, who was focusing on the target that he would miss, and Kylie, who was focusing on the spot on the wall that anyone else in the building would have been able to hit.

Harry reached out, and he easily slid the gun out of Niall’s hand. With a yelp, Niall staggered back, and the moment he was out of the way, Harry almost boredly turned to the side, aimed, and shot three times in rapid succession, the gun jerking in a familiar motion in his hand, almost relaxing him with how normal it was beginning to feel – which was quite worrying in itself – and he watched the bullets fly with a calm expression. The first bullet hit one of the googly eyes that someone had clumsily drawn on the figure, embedding itself dead in the centre of the scribbled pupil. The second burrowed straight into where the heart would have been if it had been a real person instead of a hastily drawn outline. The third went a little astray, skimming the very edge of the crotch of the outline so that it would have hit a very painful place if it had been a real person. Niall and Kylie both flinched, and Niall swore in shock as he jumped out of the way.

Passing the gun back to Niall, Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head back a little bit to look at Niall. Raising an eyebrow, he gave him a small nod of encouragement and then took a swift step back to reassure him.

“You called?” Harry asked, throwing Kylie a questioning glance.

“Mmm,” Kylie agreed, examining Harry’s shots with approval. “I did.”

Harry waited for a moment or so for an explanation, but when none was forthcoming, he cleared his throat gently and pointedly stepped forward to poke Kylie with one long finger, trying to attract his attention. Surprised, Kylie blinked a couple of times and then seemed to come back to himself with a small start.

“You called for me,” Harry gently reminded him.

“Yes!” Kylie cried. “I did!” Throwing an arm cheerfully around Harry’s shoulders, he told him, “you’ve been here for more than a month now, Harry. And you’ve proved yourself beyond question. I think we can safely say that you’ve been accepted into the inner sanctum. So I think we can let you into our little secret without too many people complaining.” He beamed.

A little confused, Harry answered slowly, “Okay…” He supposed that was a good thing, but he was already worrying about what that ‘little secret’ might be.

Beside him, Niall was looking equally apprehensive, nibbling his lower lip. Already, he was struggling to deal with everything that had gone on already – having to learn how to shoot, hanging out with criminals, outlaws, gamblers, thieves and murderers every day, knowing that everybody tolerated him like a cute little puppy but that people’s minds and moods changed easily in a place like that…a few more frightening truths might prove too much for him. Niall had been unbelievably strong already, and Harry respected him for that, but he wasn’t certain how much more Niall could take. The bonds of friendship could only take you so far. Harry could do anything; he could be strong for Louis, he had to be, and he would fight through everything that was thrown at him if it meant rescuing Louis. He didn’t care what it took; he was  _beyond_  caring. Louis was what he cared about; Louis and nothing else. Niall had only come as a favour to him, and that favour had long been paid back. Harry was the one who owed Niall, now, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to repay that.

Kylie ushered them out of the room and down the corridor with a huge grin on his face, a hand placed strategically on each of their shoulders so that he could effectively guide them where he needed them to be. Harry’s expression had hardened and his shoulders had stiffened, head held high in preparation for what was to come. In contrast, Niall had lowered his eyes to the floor, clearly daunted by the possibility of more secrets.

“We trust you now,” Kylie assured them, “and you know what  _that_ means. It means that I can tell you the important stuff without any of the guys kicking off.” Without any further explanation, he ushered them into one of the rooms that they had never previously been allowed into, and Harry took a deep breath as he straightened up and licked his lips in readiness to confront, or be confronted.

There was a little ring of hard-faced men gathered around a table, and on that table was sprawled an aerial map of what looked like the whole of Doncaster, annotated with red scribbles, a large scarlet cross, and lots of post-it notes pinned to it. It was kind of like a scene from a bad spy movie, not that Harry had seen all too many of those in his time. Romantic comedies were more his scene than cheesy action films. Folding his arms across his chest, Harry exchanged curt nods with all of them, and didn’t say a word. He recognized each face, but seeing as none of these people had been petty enough to exchange gossip about him – or perhaps simply not interested in his motives – he didn’t know either the names nor the voices that went with them. Harry was uncertain whether their lack of comment on his life outside of Kylie’s house was a reason to like them or not. Beaming, Kylie nudged in between them and took his place in the padded chair behind the desk. He folded his fingers together and scanned the room with a huge, toothy smile.

“Well, isn’t this cosy?” he asked happily.

Deadpan expressions met his enthusiasm, and as if on cue, all twelve of the assembled men dipped their heads in a kind of small bow. None of their faces even twitched, although Niall gave an odd little noise as he struggled not to laugh. In response, Harry felt his own mouth quirk slightly; he understood how Niall felt. The sight of twelve men standing with blank faces as they impassively watched their excited boss, who looked like he might leap out of his chair and start applauding with enthusiasm, was actually pretty funny.

Clapping his hands together, Kylie continued, “Anyway, now that we’re all here, I thought we could get started on the important stuff! We had to wait so I could prove that we could trust you,” he explained to Harry and Niall, “but now I’m pretty sure we’ve established that you’re very much part of the team, right, lads?” He threw a manic grin around the circle of men, who all looked less than enthusiastic about the idea. “Oh, never mind them,” said Kylie dismissively, waving his hand cheerfully, “they’re a bunch of happy chappies usually. Far more fun than they look. Pass the whiskey round and they’re happy as Larry. A bunch of drunken fools! It’s brilliant.”

None of the men looked too thrilled to be referred to as ‘a bunch of drunken fools’, but nobody made a sound of complaint.

“Oh, never try to make one of this lot smile,” muttered Kylie, “at least not without giving them a drink. Never you mind, boys; ignore them. I don’t think they  _know_ how to laugh until they’ve had a couple of shots. It’s like their facial muscles are attached to their drinking glasses; the second they put them down, and it’s bye-bye smilies.” He tutted in disgust.

As if to prove Kylie wrong, one of the men bravely attempted a smile, contorting his thin, tight mouth into a sharp twist which looked more like a grimace than a smile, and almost looked painful on his hollow face. Glancing at him, Kylie coughed, tempted to laugh at his effort, and in the end managed an supportive nod.

“That’s it, Clive,” he said encouragingly.

For a few more seconds, the man’s mouth twitched awkwardly, and then he allowed the smile to droop and slide off his face.

Shaking his head sadly, Kylie murmured, “Ah, well.” He bent over the map, and although once again his companions were expressionless, Harry thought he detected an air of relief rippling through them as Kylie stopped trying to make them smile. It had been almost painful to watch them try.

“Uh,” Niall said nervously. “K-K-Kylie?”

“Um…yeah?” asked Kylie distractedly, tracing a line down the map with his finger from a large green cross over to the thick red one.

“Why exactly are we here?”

Harry was unbelievably grateful to the Irish boy for asking that question, because he felt that he would quite like to know as well.

Stunned, Kylie said in surprise, “But…don’t you know?”

“That’s why we’re asking,” Harry said.

“Well…this is the map,” Kylie announced slowly.

“The map to where?” asked Harry.

A grin spread across Kylie’s face, and he leaned over the desk. “To our revenge,” he said softly. “To everything that twat Derek deserves. To salvation, my friends. This is a map that shows the exact location of Derek’s base. Harry, this is a map that takes us to –”

Harry beat him to it, barely daring to let himself believe what he was hearing. But he couldn’t make himself pull back the words that fell almost desperately from his lips, burning his chest agonizingly on the way out:

“ _Louis._ ” 

 *  *  *  *  *  *

“Harry.”

“And then we can sneak round the back – this is a back road, right? So we come round here, and come in around the back way…and we go in that way. Then we creep up behind whoever’s lurking nearest to the door; take them by surprise, whack them over the head, whatever, I don’t care! And then we could –”

“Harry.”

“ – tie him up, and…I don’t know, do people like that respond well to threats? We could threaten him when he wakes up, make him tell us where Lou is. And then after that we can find Louis, and whoever’s on the door, well, I’ll take care of him, any opportunity to smack one of the guys who’s been keeping my Lou prisoner. And then we’ll –”

“Harry.”

“ – get Lou out of there, he doesn’t know how to shoot, but he’d do his best, bless him, just wave it at people or something, and after that –”

“Harry.”

“ _What_?” Harry demanded, his head jerking as he turned to stare at Kylie.

“Stop,” Kylie said softly.

“Stop? What do you mean, stop? What does that mean? Why would I stop ? Why should I? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for – how long have you had this map?” he asked all of a sudden, eyes wide. “How long have you known where they’ve been keeping Lou?”

It was strange, Harry thought as he squared up to the far larger and more experienced man before him, how quickly excitement could turn into fury, especially where he was concerned. As his fingers curled and clenched into fists, he considered that really, he got angry so, so easily…the last time he’d been so furious, things hadn’t ended well; he’d ended up in a cell at a top-security prison, snatched away from the man he loved because he’d let his fists do the talking. The time before that, he’d resurfaced from a screaming frenzy to find blood on his hands and a knife on the floor, and one of his closest friends’ aggressors was dying in front of him. When Harry was angry, things always turned out…badly. That was the only thing that kept him from lunging at Kylie, and he stood shuddering and breathing deeply as he told himself,  _keep calm, Louis wouldn’t want you to do anything stupid…_

Kylie slowly shook his head. “Harry, this is why we didn’t tell you before. We knew you’d act like this. I’m sorry, I know how much you want to rescue Lou, but the fact is that you need to get your priorities sorted, okay?”

Eyes blazing, Harry hissed, “The only reason I came here in the first place was to save Louis!”

“I know that. Believe me, I do. But Harry, we can’t just let you go rushing in there. It took us so long to find out where Derek’s base was in the first place; we can’t jeopardize that knowledge just because there is a  _tiny_ possibility that we might be able to find Louis and get him out without anyone getting hurt. I’m sorry. I know how much he means to you. But we  _can’t_.”

“You don’t,” Harry said hollowly.

“I’m sorry?”

“You don’t know,” Harry repeated darkly. “You have  _no idea_ how much he means to me. If you did, forget heading out right now; we’d have been back already, because you would never have kept this from me.”

Once again, Kylie shook his head. “I feel bad for you, Harry, but you have to understand. If this goes wrong, then so many more people will suffer; if we can’t pull this heist off at the right time and blow Derek to kingdom come the first time we try it, he’ll pull down the whole base and take it somewhere new and our only chance of getting him will be gone. Opportunities like this don’t come very often. We risked fourteen lives getting these locations on the maps, and we lost three people in the process. They were friends of mine. I can’t let you throw their lives away like nothing, just because you can’t wait a few weeks longer to see your boyfriend. You’ll screw up everything if you try it now; trust me. I can’t put you and Lou over everyone else here.”

Swearing under his breath, Harry shoved his face into his hands as he felt the tears springing up to his eyes. He would not be humiliated in front of all these people. He would  _not._ But somehow, he couldn’t help it. Feeling his shoulders shake, he breathed in harshly, like he could inhale his tears and all of the hurt and drag it back inside of him again – but trying to be strong only made it worse.

“Why would you tell him?” Niall hissed, horrified. “You had to know how much that would hurt him. Could you not have left it a little longer – until the night you were planning to go? Look at him. He’s hurting now, because you aren’t going to let him save Lou for  _weeks._ How can you live with yourself now? Look at what you’ve done!” He fiercely put an arm around Harry. “Come on, mate. Don’t cry. It’s all right. You can rescue him soon. Be strong – for me? For Louis?”

Harry lifted his tearstained face. “He could be  _dead_!” he shouted, and his voice cracked slightly, but Niall flinched anyway because his ears were so close to Harry’s very large mouth. “He could be  _dead,_ Niall – or hurt. And he’ll think I don’t care. He’ll think I’m not coming. And he’ll be right.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Kylie commanded. “Niall, I had to tell him so that he’d be prepared, so that he’ll be focused properly on the day. He’s one of our best assets, for God’s sake – if I’d sprung that on him, he’d be completely useless to us.  _You_ look at him. He’s unhinged; he won’t recover from this for hours. We need him ready for anything that Derek’s lads throw at us; we need him prepared. So I’m sorry if this hurts you, Harry, but you need to sort yourself out. You need to really focus and think about what you’re saying, what you’re doing. I’d advise you to go and calm down, Harry.”

“Don’t. Don’t you even  _think_ about telling me what to do,” Harry choked. “Don’t you _dare._ ”

“What’s to stop him from going anyway?” Niall demanded, rubbing Harry’s back. “What’s to stop him from taking a gun and heading out there right now?”

It was a clever bluff, and Kylie’s eyes widened as he thought about that. However, they narrowed just as quickly. “If he goes out there without my say so, then he’s screwed. I won’t help him. Let them think that he’s striking out on his own. If he gets stuck, he’s alone. I won’t send anyone in there to get him out again.” He nodded sharply, like he’d resolved the issue.

But Harry smiled a little bit, because as if a little detail like having no backup could stop him.

 


	20. Chapter 20

It was pitch black when Harry snuck back into the deserted weapons room, surprised that it wasn’t better guarded. Not that he was complaining. Every creak of the floorboards on the way there had made him flinch; every few seconds he’d been chanting swearwords in his mind like a mantra at the slightest little sound, terrified that it would give him away. If Kylie found him trying to defy orders like this, if  _anyone_ found him, then they’d realize that he had every intention of doing what he’d been told not to. They’d throw him out, uproot the base, and abscond with the map and his only hope of rescuing Louis, and then everything would be useless; his last hope would be gone. Harry was determined not to let that happen.

He had taken off his shoes and left them by the unguarded front door, along with his black trench coat, a first aid kit, a rucksack and plenty of food. Dressed all in black, he looked like something from a low-budget spy movie, but he didn’t care about that. Creeping forwards, silent in his socks as a – what was a black animal? A panther? Yes, a panther! – silent in his socks as a panther, he slipped into the room and then started stalking across the room until he reached the cabinet where the guns were kept. He only needed two; one for him, and one for Louis; nobody would miss so few, not at a first glance. They would miss him before they missed the guns, and they wouldn’t miss  _him_  until about lunchtime; he had a habit of sleeping in. Except he wasn’t  _really_ sleeping in, he was sobbing into his pillow for several hours because once again he’d woken up alone, but that was nobody else’s business.

Pulling several tools out of his pocket, he dubiously examined them all. A quick scout around Niall’s room had given him a few things to work with when it came to picking locks, but he still had no idea what he was doing with them. Pulling a hairpin out of the jumbled pile of debris in his hand, he uncertainly poked it into the lock and jabbed, wiggling it around a bit like he expected the mechanisms to click into place just because he was nudging them. Frustrated at being beaten by a lock, Harry fiercely jiggled the pin around, but no gratifying metallic snap greeted his efforts.

“You’ll never do it like that.”

Harry yelped, swore and fell over, and by the time he’d rolled onto his back and realized that he was screwed, he thought he might start crying – until he turned his torch, which he’d been shining on the lock, onto the face of the figure who was leaning casually against the side of the doorframe, and the glint of familiar blond hair made him go weak with relief. Wiping his clammy forehead, Harry sighed a little bit and then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Whose side was Niall on? He didn’t  _think_ that his friend would grass him up to Kylie, but he couldn’t be sure.

“What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.

Pushing off the wall, Niall sauntered over to him, knelt beside him and examined the hairpin that Harry had jammed into the lock. Tutting, he gently slid it out, examined the very bent and abused metal, then shook his head almost in amusement and flicked it away. Harry couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at the pitying look Niall was giving him – but hey, locks weren’t his thing.  _Guns_ were his thing. Unfortunately, a lock was between him and the guns he needed, and that meant that he was pretty much helpless.

“You won’t get it open with one of them. A hairpin’s way too flimsy for this kind of lock. What you need is one of these.” Fishing a metal bar that was about a centimetre thick out of his pocket, Niall expertly inserted it into the lock and started twitching it around with the kind of ease that Harry fired a gun with. Humbled, Harry watched him in silence.

After a while, he asked, “How did you know I was here? I didn’t make a sound.”

“I was waiting for you,” Niall told him as he gave the bar an experimental wriggle. Disheartened, he made a disparaging noise at the lack of success and then intensified his efforts, squinting at the padlock. “Shine that torch over here a minute.”

Obediently, Harry directed the dazzling golden beam onto Niall’s hands and illuminated the lock that the boy was fiddling with. “How did you know I’d come?”

Niall snorted. “Oh, come on, Harry, give me some credit. You’re not  _that_ unpredictable. I was surprised I was the only one here, to be honest. I thought Kylie would have half the building lying in wait for you. I would have if I was him. It’s almost like they  _wanted_ you to get in here. Perhaps I’d think that they did, if I hadn’t seen about five guys prowling the corridor outside your room. Still, if they only just started, that’s pretty shoddy.”

There was a subdued rattle, and a noise that was more of a pop than a click, and then the lock snapped open and Harry and Niall both dived to catch it before it slammed into the floor and made a muted thud that could give them away. Harry’s hands found it first, and with a low sound of relief, he carefully placed it on the floor as he swung the cabinet open, thankful that it didn’t creak in the slightest. It didn’t take him very long to find his favourite gun and slide it out, check that it had no bullets in it, then flick the safety on just in case, and then it was in his pocket. Several matchboxes incongruously filled with bullets found their way into his other, empty pocket, and then Harry was getting to his feet as he chose another, smaller gun that would fit better into Louis’ hands.

He was just about to close the cabinet when Niall took a very deep breath, plunged his hand inside, and pulled out the gun that Kylie had been begging him to use for weeks, and that he’d only consented to  _hold_  a couple of days ago. Stunned, Harry stared at Niall’s slightly shaky hand in confusion.

“What are you doing with that?”

“I’m gonna wave it threateningly at people,” Niall joked. “Nah, not really. I’m bringing it so I can shoot someone if I have to.”

“I couldn’t let you do that!”

“Of course you could. You  _know_ you could. You will, too, if it comes to that. Listen, Harry, no offence, but you need all the help you can get, and I’m pretty useless, I know, but I’m moral support if nothing else. I’ll do anything I can to help you. Let me come with you, Harry. I want to help. I’ve been about as useful as a chocolate teapot so far; I want to change that.”

“It’ll be dangerous,” Harry warned.

Niall shrugged as he checked the gun as Harry had, flicked the safety on, and stowed it in the pocket of his Chinos. “Yolo.”

Harry snorted incredulously. “Yolo. Really. Did you  _actually_ just say that?”

“Would you have preferred it if I’d said something even more moronic?”

“What could be more moronic than ‘Yolo’?”

“ _I_ don’t know. Pmsl? Lmao?”

“Somehow, Niall, I don’t really think this is the sort of occasion that calls for ‘lmao’.”

“Exactly. That’s why I didn’t say it. Are you coming, or am I gonna have to go and break your boyfriend out for you?” Grinning, Niall headed for the door. Bemused, Harry followed him, turning the torch off, and they both started tiptoeing towards the door and heading for the main corridor.

He’d expected Niall to be so loud that Harry’s nerves would be in rags by the time they reached the front door, but surprisingly, Niall was even more quiet than Harry was, padding noiselessly along the carpeted floor in his cow-print socks (Harry really needed to ask Niall  _why_ he owned so many items of clothing with novelty animals printed on them!) and seeming so calm and professional about it that Harry was honestly quite taken aback. This was a side to Niall that he’d never seen; when he’d grudgingly told himself that Niall could be useful, he’d secretly dreaded the thought of the other boy cheerily hopping along in giant, noisy, metal-toed boots, munching Doritos out of a crackly bag and exploding into convulsions of laughter every few seconds. He felt bad for having such a low estimation of the boy now; Niall was deadly serious about this, and there wasn’t a whiff of cheesy Dorito-breath in the air.

Once they’d retrieved the items that Harry had stashed by the door and made their way outside, Harry dared to raise his voice to the faintest of whispers and ask “How did you get to be so quiet?”

“I used to sneak downstairs every night and raid the fridge,” Niall whispered back. “If my brother Greg caught me, he’d grass me up to my mum. I guess I learnt to be light on my feet after a few years of getting bollocked every night. Now shut up; we’re supposed to be being stealthy.”

Harry almost laughed at that painfully normal explanation, especially as it was pretty obvious to anyone who knew Niall that it was almost certainly true, but laughing wouldn’t have been very stealthy at all, so he obediently closed his mouth until they felt their way down the street to where, just over a month ago, Harry had parked Louis’ car.

He spotted Niall drooling a little bit, hands hovering adoringly over the bodywork, and he rolled his eyes as he gestured for Niall to step inside. The thought of actually being allowed to sit in an actual Porsche made Niall squeak with excitement, and he had to cram his hands over his mouth to shut himself up. As he sat down, he began bouncing up and down in his chair, almost crying with eagerness – and when Harry gingerly turned the key in the ignition, wincing at the soft purr of the engine, Niall looked so gleeful that it made Harry feel the need to choke back yet another laugh. As far as he was concerned, a car was a car; he had no idea what all the fuss was about. Adoringly, Niall stroked the upholstery and petted the gearstick, stroking every part of the car with the lightest of touches, and Harry wondered what Niall might say if he knew about the time that Harry and Louis had taken a quick ‘diversion’ across a rather muddy field and treated the glossy silver Porsche to a new paintjob, aka a generous splattering of filth when Louis had revved the engine a little too hard and the spinning wheels had sent flying mud shooting up around them. To Harry and Louis, it had been the funniest thing in the world, and taking it to the garage to take advantage of the car-wash had been even funnier; they’d nearly cried with mirth at the horror on the mechanics’ faces at the sight of such a grimy, abused Porsche having to be sluiced so violently with water. Harry imagined that Niall’s reaction would be even better than that. The thought made him smile, even though it wasn’t really an occasion for smiling.

As he watched Niall’s hands flutter adoringly over the dashboard, Harry offered amusedly, “Would you like to shift gears for me or something?”

“Ooooh!” Niall cried delightedly, and he obediently changed from first gear to third with an expression akin to ecstasy.

Harry rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he quietly backed the car off the road as sneakily as he could. “You’re so easily pleased. I’d love to see your face if I said you could drive.”

Niall’s face lit up. “OOO –”

Apologetically, Harry cut him off by raising a hand and shaking his head. “Sorry. I’d love to, really, but you’re not insured.”

“ _What_?” Niall cried. “We’re about to go breaking and entering to rescue your boyfriend, who was your psychiatrist, out of a high-security criminal base, shoot anyone who stands in our way and do god knows what else, and you’re fussing about  _insurance_   _coverage_?”

“The law is a very important matter,” Harry said sternly.

“But –  _breaking and entering_!  _Therapist/patient relationship_!  _Shoot people_! Illegal! Illegal! And yet again,  _illegal_!”

“All the more reason not to do it,” interrupted Harry calmly, “I don’t need a lack of insurance on my criminal record on top of everything else, thank you very much.” He paused. “Can you even  _drive_?”

Niall’s mouth fell open with a little pop; he hastily closed it again, then sulkily folded his arms and glared out of the window. “I have a provisional license,” he grumbled.

“So that’s a no, then.”

“Shut up.”


	21. Chapter 21

“That’s it?” Niall’s tone mirrored Harry’s disbelief as they both stared, shocked, at the perfectly nondescript building which, according to the hastily photocopied map in the back pocket of Harry’s jeans, housed at least fifty extremely violent and dangerous men, and a vicious, self-acclaimed criminal madman.

“Looks like it,” murmured Harry, pulling the map out of his pocket and studying it incredulously as if it was going to rearrange itself in front of him and look completely different from the last twelve times he had almost obsessively checked it on the way there. His nose had been buried in it for far too much of the journey, terrifying Niall into believing that they were going to end up crashing because Harry was more interested in studying  the map than keeping the vehicle in any form of a straight line.

“But it looks so…” Niall looked confused and almost cheated, like he’d expected something far more terrifying than that perfectly innocent-looking sprawling grey building which looked like nothing more sinister than some kind of warehouse.

“Harmless?” Harry suggested grimly. “Yeah. Derek does, too. It’s one of his particularly nasty tactics. Just when you start thinking he’s more of a talker than an actor, that his reputation is just a daft story, that he’s all bluff…then he turns round and bites your head off. Or punches you until your face looks like a ketchup sandwich. He’s lovely like that. He likes to keep you guessing. Say what you like about him, but he’s definitely not boring.”

“Of course not,” Niall murmured. “That would be far too easy.”

“Exactly,” approved Harry. “You’re learning. These are the kind of games Derek likes to play; he messes with your head – or what’s left of it, after he’s finished trying to smash it in.” He snorted, but Niall didn’t seem amused by his black humour, and was looking horrified by his joke.

“What are we gonna do, then?” Niall asked, regarding the building with a mixture of distaste and derision. “Are we walking in?”

“Are you mad?” demanded Harry. “Didn’t you listen to a word I just said? Derek is dangerous. This will be some kind of trap, I’ll bet you any amount of money. There’ll be s _omething_ nasty lying in wait for us, you mark my words. Just go barging in there? Do you have some kind of death wish? Good God, it’s a good job _you’re_ not in charge.”

Affronted, Niall said in an injured tone, “What  _are w_ e doing, then?”

“We’re going to scout around and evaluate the situation, and make a plan based on our findings,” Harry said decisively.

Niall raised an eyebrow. “So in other words, we’re going to wander round and look at stuff while you think of a plan.”

Harry shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Biting back a laugh, Niall opened the car door, got out, and then waited for Harry. They did several slow, paced laps around the car while Harry nibbled his lip thoughtfully and Niall tried to look like he was also thinking of something useful. In reality, he didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to be doing, so he just waited for Harry to come up with a plan. Harry knew the people. Harry could sort it. At least, that was what he told himself as he guiltily wondered whether he was going to be a help or a hindrance on this…mission. He snorted inwardly.  _Mission._ It sounded childish and silly, but how else could he describe it?

Lost in thought, Harry was taking deliberate, precise steps around the vehicle, considering what sort of actions he could take to make things a little less dangerous for them. At the moment, he had the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing what to expect, and thus he felt…blind. He could see perfectly, but he couldn’t see what he wanted to see, which was what dangers there were. There seemed to be some sort of fence around the back of the building, but apart from being tall, it didn’t look like it would be hard to climb over. Nobody appeared to be lingering around the front entrance to stop them from getting in. He couldn’t see – or hear – any slavering Rottweilers  snapping at their heels. The lack of apparent danger was what made him so wary. Kneeling down, Harry scooped a handful of pebbles from the ground at his feet, inspected them, and then looked cautiously around. Reaching out, he pulled at Niall’s sleeve and dragged him behind the car, then motioned for him to duck down. After allowing himself one last quick glance around to make sure nobody was watching, Harry flexed his arm, and then deftly hurled the largest pebble at the fence with one swift flick of his wrist. He wasn’t sure whether it would reach its target, but his aim was good, and the stone hit the fence with the typical sound of rock hitting metal – until the fence shuddered suddenly, pulsing with an unhealthy bluish-white light as a fizzing sound sizzled through the air like something was burning, and it was accompanied by a metallic tang to the air and the smell of something being scorched. Harry dropped down onto his stomach behind the car and peeked underneath it, checking for movement. Nobody seemed interested in coming out to investigate the sound; perhaps they hadn’t heard it.

Cautiously straightening up into a sitting position, Harry placed the rest of his pebbles on the ground, then brushed all the little bits of grit off his palms and nodded decisively at Niall.

“Told you,” he said. “Electric fence. Bloody good one, too. If we lay a finger on that, we’ll be the filling inside Derek’s next sandwich. Touch it with so much as your little fingers, and pfft!” He made a grand gesture. “You’re bacon.”

“Great,” muttered Niall. “That’s one piece of bacon I  _don’t_ want to eat.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that. Come on, let’s have a closer look.” Cautiously standing up, Harry started edging carefully around the car.

Niall grabbed his arm to stop him from going any further. “Wait!”

“Problem?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, actually: you want to go  _towards_ the giant electric fence which you just said will barbeque us if we touch it with so much as a little finger?”

“I’m not going to touch it; I’m just looking to see if there’s anywhere we can get in; any weak points or gaps or doors or something, basically anything with locks that you could pick. This isn’t a suicide bid, believe me. I won’t be taking any risks. Like I’d risk our lives like that.”

“You mean you wouldn’t risk  _Louis’_  life,” Niall muttered, and then he raised his voice and asked, “is this the part where you reassure me that you know what you’re doing?”

“Nope,” Harry said cheerfully, “haven’t a clue. But I’ll quite happily muddle along. Besides, you know me – I’m paranoid. I wouldn’t still be hanging out here if I thought we were in  _that_ much danger.”

“Of course you would. You’d do anything if you thought it could help Lou, you know you would. Even if it meant hurting yourself. If you had to punch yourself in the head – if you had to punch your own  _mother_ in the head…no, not even that! Let’s say you had a child. You’d punch your own baby in the head, with a  _puppy_ , if it could help Lou. You would grab a puppy by the tail and use it as a weapon to hit a newborn baby with if that would mean that Louis was safe.”

Harry was aghast. “Niall, that’s the most disgusting metaphor I’ve ever heard in my life. Hitting a  _baby_  over the head with a  _puppy_? What the hell is wrong with you? How do you come  _up_ with these mental images? What on earth is inside your head?”

Niall shrugged. “Food. Sleep. But the point is that I  _know_ you, Harry. I watched you fall in love with Lou; every day in that prison, I saw you go from interest to fascination to lust to love, and I saw him fall in love with you too. Something like that…it was amazing, Harry; I won’t lie, I used to love watching you together. It made me happy, I don’t even know why, really. This is going to sound weird, but I used to lie in my cell at night and dream about having a relationship like the one you two had. I used to look at you, having your little conversations and flirting across the room and thinking you were being so subtle – God, that was funny! – and I used to think ‘maybe one day, I’ll find someone who’s as perfect for me as that. Someone who’ll forgive me for my mistakes and love me anyway. Someone who’d give up everything for me’. And I know what I’d do to save someone like that, which is why I know what you’d do.”

There were several things running through Harry’s mind at that moment, including a lot of deep emotions, because it felt like Niall had described his and Louis’ relationship perfectly. He was touched, because Niall had genuinely been happy for them. He felt sorry for Niall because he truly deserved to find someone as perfect for him as Louis was for Harry. He felt saddened because he’d lost Louis for far too long, and hearing Niall clearly state that it was obvious how much they needed each other was almost painful. But in the end, he said in disbelief, “You _knew_?”

Niall laughed. “Oh, Harry. Come on. Did you  _honestly_ think you were being subtle? The hours spent holed up in that office together, messing with the clocks, finding excuses to chat to each other outside of your sessions, and of course who could forget all the times you forgot about your lunch because he was eating random bits of food like a porn star?” He rolled his eyes and shook his head in mock disbelief. “I’ve still not forgotten the time he was eating that breadstick in front of you – good God! Believe me, I have no interest in Louis myself; I mean he’s an attractive guy, but not my type at all – but I had some pretty crazy dreams for a couple of days after that. It was pretty scary.”

Although he was still recovering from the embarrassing revelation that his best friend had known that he and Louis were illegally ‘at it’, pretty much, ever since the relationship had begun, Harry managed to give him a soft poke. “Oi! Quit lusting after my boyfriend, Horan,” he said playfully. Of course, after that came the inevitable question: “how many people knew?” He dreaded the answer.

“Everyone,” Niall said immediately.

“What? Of course they didn’t! You’re exaggerating!”

Niall started laughing again. “You wish! You might as well have worn matching jumpers and got ‘WE’RE IN LOVE’ tattooed on your foreheads! Everyone thought it was adorable, if that’s any consolation. Me and Liam used to have proper little chats about it, when he was on his coffee breaks. Let me tell you, he’s nowhere near as straight-laced as he makes out. We were all making bets on how long it would take you two to get together, and Liam drew up all these tables and everything to say who owed who, and how much. I made a properly accurate guess; by everyone else’s reckoning, my estimate was probably within a week of you two actually agreeing to be in a relationship. At least forty people owe me a tenner; I’ll make a killing when they all get out.”

Blushing at the thought of his relationship being eagerly discussed by everyone in the prison, Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God. Did you have nothing  _else_  to talk about?”

“Nope,” came the cheerful answer. “Oh, come on, everyone thought it was hilarious! It was great. You know what people say about prison; everyone always goes on about how pretty boys in prison get knocked up quick as a wink – well, mate, to be honest, you were by far the prettiest guy there, and nobody got near you, because the psychiatrist got there first. It was brilliant! There was a running joke about it, if I’m honest. You’ve been the butt -” he laughed at the unintentional pun “- of everyone’s jokes for months, and probably will be for way longer than anyone we know is there. Stories like that are what everyone loves to hear; they’re just so  _random_!” He shook his head admiringly.

“So what you’re saying is that Louis and I have been the victims of ‘prison humour’,” Harry said.

“Yep!” Niall agreed happily.

“Great. That makes me feel so fulfilled and important. I haven’t seen my boyfriend for more than a month because he’s been abducted by prison twats, but at least the  _less_  obnoxious prison twats got to have a good laugh about our relationship first.”

Niall’s face fell. “Oh! I guess when you say it like that, it kind of isn’t funny…”

“Yeah,” muttered Harry. He rubbed his eyes wearily. “God. Sorry. That was uncalled for. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty about it. Anyway, you’ve not been in prison for ages; they’ve probably stopped going on about it by now. Probably made a conspiracy theory about a couple of the other prisoners who they’ll reckon are together.”

“Well, when I was leaving a couple of the lads reckoned that Liam was banging Zayn,” Niall offered helpfully, “but they said the same thing about Zayn and Fat Brenda, so I didn’t take much notice.”

“Fat Brenda? That giant woman behind the counter in the cafeteria who always gave us too many peas and not enough chips? Yeah, that’s likely.” Harry shook his head.

Waving a hand airily, Niall pointed out “In prison, all gossip is good gossip, cos nothing ever happens.”

“Mm,” muttered Harry. “Come on, let’s go check out that fence.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

“That floor doesn’t suit you, it really isn’t your colour,” Derek commented.

Louis didn’t bother to peel his cheek off the cold floor and lift his head; he knew that the second he tried to sit up and regain what little dignity he had left, he would be knocked down again. Instead, he lay quietly where he was, breathing carefully in and out. He didn’t close his eyes, though; he wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction. Stepping forwards, Derek lightly nudged Louis’ cheekbone with the toe of one large boot, and Louis didn’t even twitch in response; he was getting good at this twisted game they were playing, where basically Derek would do anything he could to unnerve Louis, and if Louis reacted, Derek would only hit him harder.

“You know, this whole rigmarole is getting pretty tired,” continued Derek. “What with me hitting you, and you lying there, there’s been very little conversation between us, which is quite a shame, don’t you think? So how’s this: I stop hitting you. You start talking. Everybody’s happy!” He applauded mockingly, and the sound made Louis’ aching head throb. Squatting by his side, Derek thumped him on the back. “Come on, up you get.”

Cautiously, Louis allowed himself to be hauled into a sitting position, and then he waited for the questions to come. He’d answered a few of them when things had gotten too bad; it had been embarrassing and degrading, but he’d been desperate. The way things were going, he was probably going to be desperate again very soon.

“I’ve been hearing things,” Derek told him. “Things will which please you and not me – but alternatively, things that will please me and not you.”

“Do tell,” Louis answered, as he knew was expected. His voice sounded rough and scratchy, like he’d been swallowing mouthfuls of grit, and his throat ached and felt brittle when he swallowed. The insides of his cheeks were raw and bloody from when he had bitten them to stop himself from crying out, so it felt a lot like he’d been walking around with a mouthful of nails – the metal kind.

Gesturing for Louis to take a seat on the chair that they’d both abandoned a good half hour ago, Derek began walking slowly up and down the room. He paced three whole deliberate laps in silence before wheeling around and pointing at Louis. “Shall we start with something that will please you? I think perhaps I owe it to you. Okay. So you’ll be glad to know that I’ve finally heard tidings of your disappearing fiancé! It’s been long enough; I ought to find some new spies.” He tutted.

Louis had been intending to zone out on Derek’s supposedly good news, but at this, his head jerked up so fast that he was surprised his neck didn’t break. “Harry” he said softly, and it was more of a desperate whisper than a question.

“That’s him. Young, dashing, curly hair, doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Rumour has it, he’s been slumming with Kylie’s lot! Have I ever mentioned Kylie’s lot? Scrawny bunch of scumbags, the lot of them. Intent on bringing me down. They like to preach about what a bad person I am whilst putting bullets in my associates’ heads.” Derek’s expression was thunderous, but his tone stayed light and careless, like he was commenting on the weather without really bothering what it was actually like. “He doesn’t want to go getting involved with people like that. They’re as bad as I am when it comes to doing terrible things, but the thing is that Kylie is good at convincing people that they’re doing them for all the right reasons, so ultimately he’s more dangerous.”

Louis felt fear contract his expression for the first time; it was the first time he had been unable to hold it back. “I don’t understand.”

“He’s been hanging out with a bunch of supposed do-gooders who convince everyone that they’re working for ‘the greater good’ and really they want to senselessly butcher me. Has your boyfriend not  _read_  Harry Potter?  _The Greater Good_ is never as good as it’s made out to be. He should be careful who he chooses for his friends.”

“What’s he been doing?” Louis demanded.

“Learning how to shoot people, or so my sources would indicate. Apparently, he’s good at it. Oh, and he’s roped some poor idiot along with him, a blond Irish kid –”

Stricken, Louis yelped “ _Niall_?”

“Is that his name?” Derek asked disinterestedly. “About a head shorter than you, braces, puppy-like devotion, serious accent, finds everything hilarious but wouldn’t hurt a fly?”

“Yeah,” Louis muttered.

Derek looked disapproving. “Shame to drag a kid like that into this mess. I hope your Harry feels pretty bad about that.”

Louis didn’t grace that comment with an answer; he knew that either Harry would be almost incapacitated with guilt at involving Niall in this horrible situation, or he would have already gotten over it and be doing what had to be done – which sounded very like Harry. He had always been good at doing what needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant it was. Although he didn’t doubt that Harry probably felt awful about pulling Niall into the vortex of misfortune that repeatedly dragged them in, spat them out and then sucked them back in again with what seemed  a sickening kind of pleasure, he also didn’t doubt that Harry would have pushed that aside because he needed all the help he could get. Weirdly, Louis was almost  _proud_  – and he didn’t even like to  _think_ about how wrong  _that_ was.

“Anyway,” Derek said warmly, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “back to business.”

Looking up and meeting the man’s oddly friendly gaze, Louis unflinchingly asked, “Is that your way of warning me that you’re about to hit me again?”

“You know me so well.” Raising his fist, Derek tipped his head to the side and flashed a well-practiced, toothy grin. “Well? Come on, this is your opportunity to do what you do best. I’m expecting some kind of sassy gay backchat; I do hope you aren’t going to disappoint me.”

“Have I ever?” asked Louis sarcastically. He tilted his chin upwards slightly in readiness for the blow, and said “Bring it on.”


	22. Chapter 22

“I didn’t  _mean_  to hit him,” Niall moaned.

Rolling his eyes at the statement that Niall had insisted at least five times already, Harry tucked the gun he hadn’t needed to use back into his pocket, barrel poking menacingly out with the safety catch already in place, and got a grip on the fallen man, sliding his hands underneath the man’s armpits and praying that the guy wasn’t ticklish and that the position wouldn’t wake him up. It took a few seconds for Harry to get him into a good position, but then he started dragging him across the yard to a shadow-cast tree, where the man would blend in well with his dark clothes and hair matching the darkness. It was ridiculously cliché to be performing a raid in the dead of night, but there was a valid reason why people did it that Harry was only just starting to appreciate: darkness was a very good place to hide things.

“If I’m honest, you hitting him actually made things a lot easier, so you don’t need to feel bad about it,” he said dryly, huffing as he tried to shift the rather heavy man off the threshold.

“But I’m not a violent person!” wailed Niall, throwing his hands up in the air and grabbing two handfuls of dyed blond hair. “I don’t want people to think I’m a thug! I’m not  _like_ that! I’ve always been the cuddly one, the one people trusted – I don’t want everyone to think I’m some kind of evil, thieving  _granny-basher_!”

Harry couldn’t help the laugh that exploded out of him at that moment; not only was it unattractive, but it was also far too loud bearing mind that they were supposed to be being quiet, so he quickly stifled it by pressing his face against his shoulder, seeing as his hands were free, and choked it down again. “Niall, no one in their right mind would think you were a ‘granny-basher’. I’ve met  _teddy bears_ more scary than you. Besides, why would they think you were a  _granny-basher_? This guy isn’t a granny, is he?”

Niall folded his arms sulkily. “I might have a reputation for having something against grannies. I did steal over a grand off one, remember?”

An inappropriately amused smile crept across Harry’s face. “True. Listen, no one’s going to think badly of you for whacking  _one_ guy by a complete accident; if all goes to plan, no one will even know we were here, so could you please help me shift this guy over there? Otherwise I’ll personally tell everyone that youhave a secret hatred of all women over the age of fifty and have your name put on a list of ageist offenders in the local area.”

Pulling a face, Niall stepped forwards and grabbed the man’s feet, and together they started shuffling clumsily across the courtyard, lifting the bulky sentry with difficulty. Both of them were panting as they half dragged, half carried the man towards the shelter of the large, leafy oak tree in the corner of the yard; every time one of them paused for breath, he dipped dangerously close to the ground and several times his jacket skimmed the floor when one of them lost their grip for a second.

It had been sheer luck that Niall had tripped and fallen over backwards just as the sentry had unexpectedly popped up behind him, and Harry hadn’t even had time to shout a warning before Niall stumbled over his own feet and fell, flailing clumsily, onto the man. It had been an even more unbelievable stroke of luck when one of his wildly waving arms had clobbered the man over the head and knocked him to the ground as well, where he had violently bashed his skull on the cobblestones and rendered himself unconscious, only helped when Niall continued falling, tripped over the man’s still body, and heavily landed on top of him, cracking his head against the floor again. Harry had almost been tempted to laugh – especially considering that Niall was so horrified by what he had accidentally done.

“Come on,” Harry said with faint amusement, shifting his rucksack into a more comfortable position on his back and patting Niall on the shoulder. “Seeing as this door has been left pretty much ridiculously unguarded, get us in there, would you? Then we’ll see if you can accidentally hit someone else.” He grinned.

“Oi!” Niall punched him on the shoulder. “I’m not hitting anyone!”

“You just hit me,” Harry reminded him.

Niall’s mouth fell open into a comical o-shape. “See!” he hissed dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at Harry, “you’ve corrupted me with your evil, violent ways, Styles! I’ll report you for turning me into a psychopath!”

“Niall. You are wearing  _cow-print socks._ That is  _not_ the mark of a psychopath. Trust me, I’ve met lots of them. Myself included. I do tend to look in the mirror every day, and I assure you, I have never seen myself in cow-print socks. Ever. You’re not a psychopath.”

“I might be,” Niall said sulkily as he stepped forwards and started to examine the lock. “You never know. I could just be a very  _well-disguised_ psychopath.”

“Psychopaths are never well-disguised. They’re too unstable. Louis and I had a game, back in prison; we called it ‘spot the psychopath’. I was seeing psychos round every corner. Louis, however, he actually  _looked_ at them. I know he’s been trained for it, but he could tell you who was sane and who wasn’t just by looking at their twitchy eyelid. He was brilliant.” The admiration shining in Harry’s tone was almost embarrassing, but who cared about that? “That’s one thing he’s taught me, about other people and about myself; psychopaths are unstable. A good dose of unexpected panic and I’m cowering underneath our bed; emotional upheaval and I’m clawing my arm to shreds with a piece of metal. Psychopaths are unstable.” As if he had decided that was the end of the conversation, Harry pulled out his torch and carefully shone it on the lock in an extremely pointed way.

Shrugging, Niall delved into his pocket for a lock-pick, flicked his way through the assortment of tools that he’d attached to a pink fluffy bunny key-ring, selected the one that was most appropriate for the lock he had been faced with, and started poking around inside it. Judging by the patience in his expression, he had expected to be fiddling with the lock for some time, so it surprised both of them when, after only a few seconds of careful manoeuvring, the lock clicked softly, and Niall withdrew the pick as he opened the door and held the lock up questioningly, almost as if he was asking for approval. With a nod, Harry gave it, and Niall smiled happily as he put the lock down on the floor. Harry picked it up again and stowed it safely in his pocket, causing Niall to raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“Might be useful,” Harry breathed, “God knows who we’ll be needing to lock up. Also, it’s heavy, you could hit someone with it. You’re good at hitting people. I’m even better at hitting people. It’s metal, it’s heavy, could do a lot of damage with something like that, never leave a weapon behind.” He spoke rapidly, as if his thoughts were stuck on fast forward.

“But Harry, that isn’t a weapon, it’s a lock.”

“Niall. Niall, Niall, Niall. When will you learn?  _Everything_ is a weapon if you know how to use it. You can make anything into a weapon with the right mindset. I could kill someone with this lock if I hit them hard enough, and in the right place. I could just as easily smother them with one of your cow socks. Not that I’m minded to; that would be cruel, even for me. I suppose they would have to be thankful that Louis doesn’t wear socks – that really  _would_ be cruel, have you ever had the misfortune of smelling his feet? Good God, they’re  _vile_!” He rolled his eyes. “The feet in themselves would be enough of a weapon; I wouldn’t even need to borrow his socks – are we standing on this threshold all night or are we actually going in? Personally I’d rather have Louis in my arms than be discussing how bad his feet smells.” Before Niall could answer, Harry had slipped past him and was entering the corridor on tiptoe.

He had expected sensors, alarms, tripwires, some form of booby trap that would get in their way, but surprisingly the most threatening thing that they faced was the foul shade of off-white that the walls were painted in, like sour cream, and the loathsome pale blue pattern on the polished floor. Of course, he looked around carefully before waving Niall forwards, but he couldn’t see any obvious threats. That in itself was worrying enough.

Harry paused and carefully eased his gun out of his rather full pocket, then proceeded to load it with ease, feeling the familiar click of the mechanisms and the sudden extra weight of the bullets in the gun. He kindly loaded Niall’s gun for him, and watched Niall flinch and turn the same colour as the walls as the weapon was handed back to him – but in all fairness, he took a deep breath and allowed the gun to be placed into his hand, despite being terrified of it, and Harry respected him for that.

They padded down the corridor in silence, Harry’s mind ticking over as he thought everything over, running through every option in his mind. The way he saw it, there were several places where Louis could be: they could have done the unexpected and imprisoned him in the outer corridors, near the edges, where no one would expect him to be and would be unlikely to check; they could have gone for the safer option and stowed him in the middle, where he would be reasonably easy to retrieve but far enough in that trespassers wouldn’t find him easily; or they could have hidden him as far away from the entrances as possible, where extracting him if they needed him would be inconvenient, but he would be very hard to find. Of course, for the sake of an easy retrieval, Harry was pinning his hopes on Louis being somewhere on the outskirts of the building – but that would probably be too easy. He made a decision to systematically check every room for any signs of Louis, and slowly work his way inwards – slow, but thorough.

Pausing by each door, he would listen intently for sounds of human habitation; he had very keen ears. If the sound of snoring poured through the wood of the door, he would roll his eyes and move swiftly on; Louis didn’t snore, he knew that from personal experience. In sleep, Louis was light and noiseless; he just lay and let himself be held, and left all the snoring to Harry – apparently. It sounded odd, but he inspected each room for breathing noises, because he could have identified Louis by the sounds of his breathing alone. He’d lain listening to it enough times, motionless in bed at night, clinging to Louis’ hand with one of Louis’ arms wrapped comfortingly around him, keeping him safe, while he nuzzled sleepily into Harry’s chest and then fell asleep. Terrified, Harry would lie awake for hours, scared to let him go, just listening to those miraculous sounds. He’d done it after he’d been released; it had been weeks before he’d relaxed enough to get a proper night’s sleep, simply because he was so afraid that Louis would be snatched away from him again. It was cruel that just as he’d finally eased seamlessly into his new life and gotten used to how breathtakingly perfect life with Louis was,that it had been snatched away from him. Once Louis was back in his arms, he didn’t think he’d ever close his eyes again. He’d borrow some handcuffs from someone and chain their wrists together, and he’d devotedly follow Louis around everywhere like a puppy – he’d never let him out of his sight again.

Behind him, Niall was silent, seeming to appreciate that this was a very subtle art, listening to sounds that to him were incomprehensible. In his converse sneakers, he was noiseless, and his nervousness served them well; he checked over his shoulder for an ambush every few seconds, and every slight sound had him jerking his gun upwards in alarm. Harry was a little apprehensive that Niall might start shooting holes into the ceiling if he got too jumpy, but at least Niall had his back, and seeing as he was devoting his entire attention span to listening at keyholes, it was reassuring to know that someone was looking out for him.

Harry’s glances at the map of Derek’s base had been fleeting, and although his memory was pretty good, it was by no means flawless, and he was having a few problems recalling the exact layout. He was fairly sure that there was a slight upwards slope to the building and it seemed to curl around in a kind of enormous, lazy spiral. A frown creased his forehead as he led the way, and as door after door yielded no Louis, his discontent grew, and yet he didn’t make a word of complaint. Neither did Niall, even though his stomach growled rebelliously a couple of times and he paled instantly in response, as if the small noise was a blaring siren intended to alert Derek’s ‘minions’ to their presence. Harry was almost tempted to laugh at the agonized look on Niall’s face as he desperately pummelled his stomach to try and shut it up. Then again, he was also tempted to delve into the bag he had brought and throw several packets of snacks in Niall’s face to stop the irritating little gurgles which irritated him beyond sense. He was learning not to pander to these little impulses.

As he walked – ear pressing against door, quickly listening, then withdrawing with an almost imperceptible shake of his head – Harry stroked his thumb down the barrel of his gun, in what was almost a caress, with an emotion that could easily have been mistaken for reverence. It was more of an empty, absent gesture to keep his hands busy than anything else, but an onlooker could have been forgiven for thinking that he was enjoying the sensation of having the icy metal warming in his hand. He wasn’t. In fact, he loathed it. The thought of what Louis’ face would look like if he saw Harry pointing that harsh, unfeeling metal  _thing_ at someone made him feel a little sick, but he grimly pushed on.

The corridors were as hollow and empty as Niall’s stomach; Harry was surprised that they hadn’t encountered anyone yet. Not that he was complaining – if they could be in and out without meeting a single person, well, who was he to object? It would be far easier that way. Still, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy, with a primal prickling on the back of his neck like hot needles dancing across his skin, and the further on they went without being stopped or challenged, the more shifty Harry got.

It was the first time in weeks that he’d worn anything other than Louis’ jumper, and he felt naked without it. In fact, worse than being naked; nakedness was something he was perfectly comfortable with. It was  _vulnerability_ that clung to him whenever he took that jumper off, as if he was really, truly alone for the first time. The smell of Louis had long since begun to fade from the fabric, replaced by the smell of Harry and the Lynx that he practically  _drowned_  himself in every morning so that it wouldn’t start smelling of sweat, but he wore it anyway, like a badge of honour, like a promise that he hadn’t given up, that he never would.

Behind him, Niall gave a sigh of irritation, and Harry turned to look at him. Niall was staring huffily down at the shoe on his left foot, the laces of which were trailing on the floor. Rolling his eyes, he bent down to tie it, and Harry shook his head as he turned back the way he was facing and continued a little further down the corridor. He knew that Niall wouldn’t want to be left behind; he would catch up quickly enough.

His feet were almost noiseless on the floor, and so were Niall’s, so he didn’t hear when Niall started forwards again. It didn’t bother him; he was too busy listening at each door to bother listening to his friend’s footsteps. Continuing down the corridor, he paused, listened, then started up again, creeping down the hallway in silence. He had reached the far corner and was about to turn and start heading down the next twist of the building before he paused and looked back to check that Niall had his back and was ready to watch behind them as they slid around the corner – and he froze with surprise, feeling his heart jerk in his chest as he stopped immediately, as if he was a puppet and someone had cut his strings.

All credit to whoever had done it; they hadn’t made a sound. There hadn’t been so much as a sharp intake of breath to alert him to Niall’s removal. But all of a sudden, Niall Horan had been whisked away as noiselessly as Louis had, and he was completely alone. Stiffening, Harry instinctively jerked the gun upwards and scanned the corridor, looking around in case he was going to be snatched as well. Then, after a few seconds of contemplation, he realized that nobody was going to grab him and restrain him – because that would be far too easy.

Swearing quietly, Harry knuckled his forehead and rubbed his eyes. He was completely sick of these stupid games that Derek was playing with him! He could just imagine the smirk on Derek’s face when he saw how much that sneaky move had gotten to him.

Straightening up, Harry nodded slowly to himself. Panicking wasn’t going to help anybody, especially not Niall, who was probably terrified and shaking himself to pieces right now with fear. Kidnapping Niall was probably one of the cruellest, nastiest things that Derek could have done, simply because Niall cringed at the slightest of threats and being bullied by a bunch of huge, frightening and bitterly sarcastic men wasn’t going to be the kindest of ordeals for him to be subjected to. Harry could only hope that Niall would be treated…if not well, at least  _reasonably_. Niall had been caught up in the wrong thing, trying to help a friend. Harry knew that if there was one thing that Derek valued and admired in people, it was loyalty; he could only hope that Niall’s unfaltering devotion to him and Louis would weigh in the boy’s favour.

Taking a deep breath, Harry checked over his shoulder and then shook his head, loosening his shoulders. It took him a few seconds to regain control over himself, and then he set off down the corridor, forehead furrowed in determination. Now, it was all the more important that he rescued Louis, and Niall too, before he lost someone else. Harry was sick of losing people. He’d lost his lover, and he’d lost his best friend, and maybe it wasn’t permanent – hopefully not, anyway – but he wanted both of them back where he could keep an eye on them and make sure he didn’t lose them again. He wasn’t going to be watching Niall  _quite_ as obsessively as he would watch Louis, but they wouldn’t be going far from his sight if he had his way. He’d guard them day and night if he had to. It sounded creepy, but he didn’t care about that.

Niall Horan was gone as well.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niall does something in this chapter which even my younger, allergic-to-research self recognized as probably impossible and at least, implausible. Please don't hold it against me. I'm embarrassed enough haha.

Niall had just finished fastening his shoe and straightened up, watching Harry slowly edge his way further down the corridor. He’d rocked back a little on his heels, shaking his head – and that was when he’d felt something cold and hard poking into the back of his head.

In hindsight, it wasn’t the best plan, but he’d whirled around in shock to see what it was and discovered that now he had the barrel of a gun pointing squarely in the middle of his forehead, ready to blow his brains out. All the colour had left his face and he started trembling; he’d never been at this end of a gun before. He’d thought he might vomit.

To him, the most unfair part was that the person holding the gun so calmly was not one of the tall, pink-faced men he’d expected; there was no square jaw or buzz cut in sight. The fingers curled around the gun were tanned and lithe, and the slim hand didn’t tremble. He was met with a confident gaze from someone with dark blue eyes, caramel brown hair and an almost insulting amount of nonchalance.

The woman had hair that cascaded wildly in tight curls down to the small of her back like a waterfall, and long eyelashes to compliment her blue eyes. Her mouth was a small pink shape on her face, fixed into a lazy pout, and she had high cheekbones. Her skin was lightly, evenly tanned, as if she had lived in a hot country for a number of years. She wore a kind of white jumpsuit with blue stripes, which was cinched in at the waist, sleeveless, showing her toned arms and giving enough indication of hidden curves to make you think about it but without being slutty. Her scarlet stiletto heels meant that she towered ridiculously over him, but she was tall enough that she would have been a good inch or so taller than him even without them. As she regarded him, she tilted her head to one side, almost flirtatiously, and her mouth quirked into a smile. Sliding a lipstick tube out of her pocket, she applied a layer of scarlet to her mouth with  frightening precision, despite having no mirror, and only having one hand free – then she replaced the tube and tapped Niall in the centre of the forehead with the gun.

The indication was clear: move. Niall hastily backed up a little, until the woman jerked her head to indicate the corridor behind her, with a toss of her curly hair. Quickly skirting around her, Niall obediently allowed her to press the gun to the back of his head and started walking in the direction she had pointed out. Hopefully she wouldn’t see how badly he was shaking. It didn’t help, of course, that she looked so much like a female version of Louis. Possibly that was why they’d sent her out; they knew it would be unsettling.

As they walked, the woman reached out and placed a hand on his hip, and Niall shivered lightly without meaning to at the undeniably flirtatious gesture – and then her slender fingers dipped into the pocket of his Chinos and she slid his gun out, examining it almost with boredom. She paused for a second, checking it out, then raised an eyebrow like she was reluctantly impressed and plunged the weapon into her own pocket. Inwardly, Niall swore. How could he have forgotten that? Admittedly, she would probably have blown his brains out before he could have gotten it out of his pocket, but it might have been useful later, and it had been a reassurance if nothing else. Odd, really, that something he loathed so much had become something he had depended on – without it he felt horribly vulnerable.

Guiding him around the corner, she seemed to delight in toying him: she tapped him lightly with her own gun, stroked his neck with the barrel of it, and basically taunted him with it at every opportunity to let him know who was in charge. Like he was going to argue with a woman who had a gun!

It didn’t take too long to get to their destination; even in the heels that clicked provocatively on the floor with every step, she set quite a pace, and Niall had to hurry to keep up with her. Not that he would dare to complain. She was chewing gum, he quickly noticed, and the constant snapping of gum and click of her jaw was annoying him, the waft of mint assaulting him every few seconds and making him feel strangely dizzy. One of the straps on her jumpsuit slipped off her shoulder, and the suit dipped a little, her hair falling off her neck to show a tiny nicotine patch fixed precisely on one shoulder. Was she trying to give up smoking? Why would a woman like this smoke anyway? Gang life was stressful, he supposed, especially for such an attractive woman. Maybe her life was hard. Maybe she was stick of the constant fug of cigarette fumes clinging to her pretty hair. Maybe she was struggling to kick a habit that had been with her for years. Niall felt sorry for her all of a sudden, but mostly he was comforted, because that little indication that she was a real, sometimes vulnerable human woman was reassuring. It made him feel like he had a chance to appeal to her, to talk his way out of this.

He opened his mouth to start pouring the Irish charm onto her, and she jabbed him irritably in the temple with her gun. Abruptly, Niall shut his mouth again. Perhaps not.

They didn’t go much further down the corridor until her hand landed on Niall’s shoulder and she stopped him, ordering “Don’t move, or I’ll blow your brains out.” She had an attractive Scottish accent with a slightly exotic lilt to it that he didn’t quite recognize. Then she tapped carefully on a nearby door with her polished nails and waited. It took a few minutes for the door to open, and then a man stepped out.

Niall instantly knew who he was, because Harry had described him enough times, hollow-eyed and in dead tones, talking about those hard grey eyes and the hard expression and the bulky muscles – but he never realized that maybe Derek wasn’t as terrifying as Harry had always made out. He looked like a typical middle-aged bloke, really, and the huge, friendly smile on his face only intensified that.

“Niall Horan?” came the query.

“Uh…yeah? Derek?”

“That’s me.” Stepping forwards, Derek said “Let me look at you! You’re far more handsome than the security footage from the car park gives you credit for. Isn’t he handsome, Delilah?” He slung a burly arm around the young woman’s shoulders like she was an old friend – like he hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was.

The woman nodded obediently, and Derek laughed delightedly, poking her lightly on one cheek like he found her adorable.

“Bless her! Stunning, isn’t she? Her eldest son, Mark, works for me. I keep him safe if she does what I say, isn’t that right, hon? Make sure he doesn’t go on any dangerous missions, don’t I? And then there’s her beautiful daughter Dixie, who won’t get a finger laid on her by any of my lads, so long as her mummy does what I say. But mummy always does what Uncle Derek says, doesn’t she?” Derek taunted.

Delilah stayed silent, but her cheeks flushed and Niall got the impression that she would have loved to punch ‘Uncle Derek’ in the face.

“That’s disgusting, man,” Niall said. “You can’t use a woman’s kids against her like that, that’s just despicable.”

“My middle name,” Derek answered uninterestedly, “is Desmond. I shorten it to Des, and then tell people it’s short for ‘despicable’. Some of them believe me. I’m not a nice guy, Niall. There’s no room for nice guys in a world like ours. Sure, everyone must love chivalrous kids like you, but it never ends well. Women love a bad boy, right, sweetheart?” His hand hadn’t left Delilah’s shoulder, although at least it hadn’t moved downwards towards her chest. At least he wasn’t molesting her.

Niall stayed silent, feeling something as close to hatred as he’d ever felt towards anyone, wondering whether Derek always inspired such loathing in everyone. Judging by the look in Delilah’s eyes, the answer was probably yes.

“I have someone who I think you might be interested in,” Derek continued, “walk this way.” He steered Niall into the room behind him and then prodded him up a flight of very steep stairs, leaving the Irish boy huffing and panting. He hated stairs.

It didn’t take long before Niall was well and truly lost; Derek almost seemed to enjoy confusing him as they headed upstairs and downstairs and round corners and through hidden doors, until Niall didn’t know whether he was upstairs or downstairs and had no idea which direction he was heading in. Perplexed, he just followed Derek, knowing that he wouldn’t let the man out of his sight; if he got lost in this place, he might never get out, and Harry had his sandwiches.

“Here,” said Derek boredly, opening a door and indicating inside.

Leaning forwards, Niall squinted after the shaft of light that speared into the room. He could see someone huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around their legs, chin resting on their knees, and as he curiously poked his head through the doorway, the figure sat up and stared at him. Niall’s eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness, but after a few seconds, he managed to make out some of the features of the man who was sat there. Slender. Ruffled hair that stood on end. A grim expression. Wearing a baggy striped shirt that ought to have fitted, but was strangely too big for him. Yet what gave him away most was his posture; Niall didn’t know anyone else who ever sat like that – he’d only ever seen one man who would happily sit hunched up with his knees brought up to his chest no matter where he was.

“Louis!” he cried.

As if that was some sort of signal, Derek planted both hands on Niall’s back and shoved, sending him staggering as he reeled into the room, almost falling flat on his face. Louis’ hand reached out as if to try and catch him, but Niall steadied himself and whirled around just as Derek slammed the door shut behind them, plunging them back into darkness.

“Niall!” Louis’ voice was strange; he sounded oddly high pitched almost as if he was drunk as he grabbed at the wall and clawed himself into a shaky standing position, like he was struggling to hold himself upright. At the same time, his voice was rough and gravelly, like he’d been gargling broken glass. “Niall!”

Automatically, like he often did, Niall decided that Louis was in dire need of a hug, so he walked across the room like he was in the habit of comforting abducted friends, and enveloped the other man in one of his famous ‘Horan Hugs’. Collapsing against him, Louis snuffled into his shoulder and cling to him like he’d never been hugged before in his life, and Niall rubbed his back feeling pretty important. It was nice to be depended on.

“Are you okay?” he asked inadequately – simply because he couldn’t think of much else to say.

“Been better,” mumbled Louis. His head snapped up all of a sudden and his eyes narrowed. “Wait. Why are you here?”

“Charming!”

“No, I – how did you get here? They wouldn’t just  _take_ you. Why are you here?” His jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Harry!” He grabbed Niall’s arms, shoved him back and held him at arm’s length in horror. “Harry! Where’s Harry?” Raw panic blossomed across his face, and Niall saw the same look in his dark blue eyes that he’d been seeing in Harry’s green ones of late – a desperate need to be back in each other’s arms, to know that each other were safe. It made his stomach hurt just to look at it.

“He’s okay!” promised Niall, “or he was when I left him. We came to break you out.” He nodded proudly, pleased to be able to include himself. “Right now, Harry’s creeping out there somewhere with a gun, ready to blow out the brains of each and every one of those bastards out there.” Niall was indecently pleased by the idea; it was slightly worrying. “He’s smarter than I am. I stopped to tie up my shoe, and wham! They nabbed me.”

Louis looked like he might cry. “He came for me?” he whispered.

“Yeah. We both did.”

“He told me he would. He promised he’d come back for me. And he did.” Delirious happiness and shock were in equal measure on Louis’ face; he seemed torn between the two. His fingers raked at his stubbly face like he was trying to scrub off the bristles, and his lips started trembling. “ _God._ I’ve missed him so much.”

“He missed you too. He cries himself to sleep most nights.” Should he really have told Louis that? It sounded awfully like a guilt trip now it had actually come out of his mouth. Oh well. Niall shrugged. There was no taking it  back now. “I’ve been worried about him if I’m honest. I thought he was losing his mind.”

A tear dripped almost invisibly down Louis’ left cheek; he ignored it. “Harry…” It was more of a sigh, a plea, than anything else, and for a moment Niall wished that it was him who’d been left on his own in that corridor, and that Harry had been snatched and brought here, because Louis looked so lonely and desolate, and Niall couldn’t do anything about that.

“The things he’s done for you. He loves you so much, Louis. He’s learnt how to shoot, and how to fight, and all for you. Some days, he’d practise for hours on end without a break, so that he was ready to come and save you. When he found out where you were, his face lit up like…like…” Were there words?

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis moaned, and he grabbed two handfuls of hair like he might rip them out and leave himself with huge bald patches.

“You look rough.” Niall was desperately trying to change the subject all of a sudden; he didn’t think he could cope with hearing Louis crying out for Harry any longer; it hurt him physically to hear it.

“Well, this is hardly a beach holiday,” Louis snapped. He groaned. “God. Sorry. I’m sorry. I just…I think I’m losing it. I need Harry here with me. I need to know he’s safe. No offence, but I can’t just take your word for it. I need to see him for myself.” His fist slammed down on the wall and then he dropped to the floor again and sat down miserably.

Strolling over to the door, Niall started examining the lock with a discerning, practised eye. “Any guards posted outside this door? Do you know?”

Louis’ hands fluttered helplessly. “Haven’t a clue. I haven’t ever seen anyone outside other than Derek, and he isn’t the type to sit around watching a door all day, but what does it matter?”

“Oh, it definitely matters. Got a paperclip on you?”

“Yeah, right, because I stopped to buy stationary on my way here,” Louis said defiantly.

“Only asking! Nah, sorry, stupid question.” Niall started fingering his braces thoughtfully; it was a habit of his. Just after leaving prison, as a celebration, he’d had them fitted, and he’d been ridiculously proud of the improvement to his teeth already. It always astonished him how something so flimsy could make such a massive difference to his teeth; the metal flexed easily underneath his fingers.

“Why do you need a paperclip?” asked Louis curiously.

“I pick locks.”

“You can’t pick a lock with a paperclip!”

“ _I_ can.” It wasn’t a boast, but a simple statement of fact. Bennie had taught Niall to bend a paperclip and turn it into an appropriate tool for lock-picking, and he was excellent at it if he did say so himself.

“Well, we haven’t got one!” said Louis impatiently.

“No…” came Niall’s thoughtful answer, muffled by the fingers on his braces. He paused all of a sudden, testing the metal. Could he? Was it possible? Almost certainly, he could, and the metal would be fairly easy to bend, but the question was, did he have the willpower to rip it out of his mouth, knowing full well how much that it would hurt and that it might bleed? Gritting his teeth, Niall answered his own question: for his friends, he could.

Louis asked sharply “What are you doing?”

“Something bloody stupid,” answered Niall – and then he gripped his braces and yanked as hard as he could.

He howled the instant he tugged on the metal, but it worked – yelling in agony, he tore, and a strip of wire broke away from the rest of the brace where it was attached to his teeth and gums, leaving a mess of jagged metal still clinging to his mouth. He thought for a moment that his teeth had come with it, but a few wincing prods told him otherwise. Niall had completely destroyed his dentist’s efforts and probably set himself back by at least six months, but he didn’t care about that. His reward for all that pain was just one slim metal rod clasped between his fingers. Swearing, he grabbed at his mouth and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor with a low moan of pain. The sharp points of the broken brace ripped at the inside of his mouth, and he tried to flatten them down with his fingers, not letting go of his wire.

“What the hell have you done?” demanded Louis incredulously.

Niall replied thickly, through a mouthful of blood and metal and white hot agony stabbing him with every twitch of his mouth, “I’ve got us a lock pick.”

He’d never picked a lock with a bloodstained piece of metal before, but if anything, the blood made the makeshift lock pick slide more easily into the lock. As he gently poked around inside the lock, Niall could already see the stories he would tell to Kylie’s lads back home – ‘I once ripped off my own brace and picked a lock with it!’ He would be like Tony: Kylie would forbid his story because it wasn’t by the book, and he would become a legendary figure among the ranks: Niall Horan, the boy with the braces.

Rightfully, he was absurdly pleased with himself when he was met with the familiar friendly click that meant he’d unlocked it. He’d never been so proud of his speed and prowess with a pick as he was at that moment, as when watched by an open-mouthed Louis, he eased the door open and quickly checked to make sure no one was waiting for them.

“I’ve been here for weeks,” Louis told him faintly, “and breaking out takes you all of ten minutes.”

Niall shrugged. “I’m just that good.” His accompanying grin was a flash of metal and blood, and Louis cringed at the sight of the jagged, wiry mess which was all that remained of Niall’s braces.

“You okay? That looks sore.”

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” Niall nodded bravely and tucked the metal into his pocket. “Harry told me that anything can be a weapon if you need it to be,” he explained, “and we might need to pick another lock. Besides –” sheepish, bloody grin “ – I want something cool to show the guys when we get back. Jeb has a bullet that he dug out of this guy’s head after he shot him. He wears it round his neck. It’s wicked.” He shook his head happily.

“I worry about the kind of people you’ve been hanging out with.” Louis nudged past him and checked apprehensively that no one was wandering up the corridor ready to catch them and shove them back into the room.

“If I were you, I’d worry more about getting out of here. But honestly, you need to worry about Harry more than me. I don’t know what’s going to be harder to pry out of his hands when we get out of here – the gun, or you.”

“Me, I would hope. If I have my way, I’ll never let him go again.” Louis laughed a little and then stepped out into the corridor. “Come on. Let’s find my fiancé.”


	24. Chapter 24

Harry clung to his gun as he edged closer to the corner, tensely shifting his weight, keeping his back pressed against the cool wall. Flakes of cheap, dirty white paint clung to the dark fabric of his hoodie, and he pulled a face. Dressing entirely in black might have been appropriate for the mood, but in a building painted completely in exciting shades of white, from boiled potato to sour cream, he was left dangerously conspicuous. He stuck out like a lump of coal in a snowdrift. Easing forwards on his tiptoes, he flicked off the safety on his gun and flexed his finger against the trigger, holding it at the height he’d been taught. It was unnecessary  to do all of this before turning the corner; Harry had proved many times during training that he had frighteningly fast reflexes, and could pull a gun and be shooting someone before they had even realized what was happening – but he found a strange reassurance in knowing that if someone took him by surprise, he’d already have blown their brains out in the time it should have taken him to raise his gun. Licking his lips, he poked his head carefully around the corner, checked behind him, then quickly slipped around the bend and kept sliding along. So far, to his relief, he hadn’t needed to shoot anyone, and although he would have unhesitatingly put a bullet in the brain of anyone who tried to stop him from rescuing Louis – and, apparently, Niall – he was hoping that it wouldn’t come to that.

The spare gun in his pocket bumped ominously against his thigh, a deadly reminder, and Harry swallowed. Almost glad that Niall would have lost his first gun and would be needing the spare, he patted it carefully. The idea of Louis fumbling around with a weapon like that was…horrific. Harry cringed at the thought. Okay, so Niall recoiled every time he saw a gun, balked at the idea of shooting a target, let alone a real person, squealed every time he squeezed the trigger and was a crap shot – but at least he’d had some training, and knew how to handle himself around a gun, albeit very reluctantly. Louis wouldn’t have a clue what he was doing. He would bravely wave it around like an idiot and be more likely to accidentally hit someone over the head with it than shoot them. Harry almost laughed at the thought – until he remembered the most important rule of infiltration, extraction, and handling a gun in the first place: never get distracted. Suddenly sober, he pressed on.

Adrenaline-junkies, Harry swiftly decided, were idiots. His veins thrummed with an energy he couldn’t wait to be rid of; everything he saw was sharpened into uncomfortable focus. He  _loathed_ adrenaline, and the nervous, irrepressible enthusiasm that came with it. Adrenaline made Harry impulsive – which led to him acting too quickly and doing things he regretted. It never ended well. He was also left exhausted after it faded; when he had Louis safely in his arms, he would simply be wrapping them both in their duvet, clinging to Louis like a limpet and not letting go until his arms and legs fell off. Or when he fell asleep and Louis could make his escape. Hopefully, that wasn’t something he would be all too keen to do.

Something creaked, and Harry paled, gripping the cold metal in his hand so hard that his knuckles turned white. Noises in an otherwise silent building – not good. Speeding up, he cautiously approached the next corner, then paused to check his stance. It had been relentlessly drummed into him time and time again that the gun positioning was the important thing, not how you stood, but if you had plenty of time to ready yourself, you might as well get everything spot on and maximise your chances of getting a clear shot. Not that Harry had ever had problems with hitting his targets, but he had no intention of getting sloppy, especially not at a time like this. So Harry took a deep breath, placed his feet widely apart, and held onto his weapon with both hands. Rolling his shoulders to loosen them up a little, he steadied himself, focusing intently.

_Make sure your gun is a safe distance from your body…_

Before he could allow himself any time to think, before the fear could kick in like a punch to the stomach and incapacitate him, before he could be left immobilized by stupid pessimistic thoughts of who or what might be lying in wait for him around the next bend, Harry threw himself around the corner with a flinch and a harsh intake of breath –

Shocked faces, a jolt of terror, his stomach clenching, sweat rolling down his back as he backtracked instantly, hot flashes of nervousness curling down his spine –

Blonde hair, brown hair, two sets of blue eyes, one pair dark and devastating, the other light and pretty, identical expressions of horror, raising the gun with shaking hands, instinct tightening his finger on the trigger almost as if it would be harder for him not to kill someone in cold blood than to kill them – cold blood! What a stupid phrase! There was nothing cold about Harry right then. He was hot and shaky and sweaty all over – a flutter of frightened recognition somewhere buried deep inside his abdomen as he discovered that he recognized the scared face of the person he  was going to kill first –

“Louis!”

For one horrifying moment, Harry thought he wouldn’t be able to stop. His finger was too tight on the trigger, too close to releasing it, and he felt a stab of agonizing fright worse than any of the others that had preceded it, because no amount of self-preservation could be stronger than the terrifying realization that he could be about to put a bullet right between the eyes of the man he loved. Hurling the gun away from him, Harry watched it skid across the floor away from him, numbly realized what a dangerous thing he’d just done and how badly Kylie would have scolded him and how hard he would have shaken him if he’d seen that – and in the same moment figured out that it didn’t matter, and then he had taken advantage of his two free hands by dragging Louis as closely against him as he could, crushing their bodies together with a fierceness that surprised even him.

He pulled Louis so hard against him that it hurt, but he couldn’t have cared less about  _that_! Deep in his chest, he made a small, helpless noise and rubbed his cheek against Louis’ hair. The warm weight of Louis’ body against him was less substantial than he remembered; he felt so much smaller and more fragile in Harry’s arms. Yet what caught Harry most off-guard was the smell, the softly lingering scent that, after weeks of very limited access to running water, soap or showers, ought to have been chased away. The scent that no amount of Louis’ well-worn clothes could have given justice to. Louis’ face was dirty, tear-tracks streaked through the grime, and his hair was stiff with dust and standing on end on the left side of him, flattened against his head on the right, where he’d slept oddly on it. His filthy clothes, the exact same ones he’d been wearing on the day he’d been taken, were now several sizes too big, hanging limply off him. His whole body trembled slightly as Harry clung to him.

He was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen in his life.

“ _Louis_ ,” he breathed against Louis’ hair.

The weak sounds of Louis’ sobs into his shoulder were like music to Harry’s ears – like stars singing. He’d never heard such a sad sound in his life, or one that had made him so achingly miserable and so desperate to make Louis happy again, but _God,_ it was beautiful. He stroked Louis’ hair repetitively, almost without registering what he was doing. There were so many things he longed to say:  _“I love you” “I’ve missed you” “Are you okay?” “I love you so much” “Thank God you’re alive” “I never gave up” “I’m here”…_

He ended up saying “ _Louis_.” That one soft sound said everything that needed to be said, and a whole lot more.

Louis sniffed sharply against his shoulder, lost for words. His bones were hard and defined where they pressed into Harry’s body, and Harry could feel every single one with painful precision. He thought gratefully towards his rucksack, and Niall’s insistence that they brought snacks, and knew that as soon as he could drag himself away from Louis for a second, he would be forcing as much food into Louis’ mouth as was humanly possible. Close to tears, Harry snuggled closer into Louis’ chest, hands on his back, holding him securely against him. His mouth burned, desperate for kisses, but he couldn’t tilt his head far back enough to steal one without distancing their bodies, which he had no intention of doing. Just holding Louis was all he asked of life, from that moment onwards – clinging on and not releasing him. Ever.

A very tentative tap on his elbow made Harry lift his head ever so slightly and glance up in irritation. Niall was worriedly holding Harry’s gun out to him, regretfully biting his lip. He didn’t look particularly afraid, despite the poisonous glare Harry was giving him, but he certainly looked apprehensive – not without reason. The disruption was tempting Harry to push Niall very hard and knock him down and make him leave, so he could just hold Louis, like he so desperately needed to. Niall shook his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry, guys, I know how long it’s been – but we have to move!”

Harry was tempted to say to hell with it all – let them be caught and locked up, and be beaten and starved, as long as he and Louis could be held captive in the same room. As long as he could hold Louis’ hand and watch him breathing and hold him close. As long as he could just have that. But one of Louis’ ribs poking him in the stomach swiftly changed his mind, and all of a sudden he was accepting his weapon at the same time as he unzipped his pocket and thrust the spare one at Niall.

“I’ll take the lead. You cover me from behind, okay?” He kissed Louis tenderly on the forehead, fleetingly but lovingly, and saw Louis’ eyes widen and heard him give a soft sigh as his lips parted and he trembled longingly at the light caress. “Louis…Louis, I’m sorry, I haven’t got another gun; you’ll have to go in the middle.” Louis’ name had never tasted so sweet; it came so easily from his mouth when previously it had been so hard to even think it, and Harry just wanted to say it again.

“What, don’t I get to play gangsters too?” Louis joked, his voice hoarse and low from disuse. It was the first time Harry had heard him speak in weeks, and his voice knocked Harry’s mind off track once again; it was rough and disturbingly sexy, and Harry felt a twinge of something familiar below his waist as his body stirred and his mind distractingly screamed  _SEX_! reminding him of just how tantalizingly close Louis was to him and what such close proximity usually meant. Harry acknowledged and overrode the impulse in one quick moment; now was not the time for such thoughts.

“If one of us dies, you can have his gun,” he said shortly, leaving Louis to fall silent as he acknowledged that this was no laughing matter.

“Sorry,” he said guiltily.

“No, no. Don’t you be sorry. Don’t you even  _think_ about being sorry. It’s my fault. Everything is my fault. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Boo. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you as long as you promise never to call me ‘Boo’ again,” said Louis dryly. He rested his head carefully on Harry’s shoulder, holding him tightly.

“Can’t make any promises I won’t keep,” teased Harry.

Louis sighed softly. “Never thought I’d get to be this close to you again.” Incredulously, he shook his head. “You came back for me.”

“Always.” Harry reached out, took his hand and squeezed it. “Now. Come on, lads let’s act on the incredibly brilliant and well-thought out plan I’ve been working on for several hours now.”

“Oh?” A small smile lit up Louis’ face; the first real one he’d managed for an awfully long time. The expression felt odd on his face. “What’s that, then?”

Harry gripped Louis’ hand even harder, stroking his knuckles carefully. He spared a small glance for Niall and raised his eyebrows knowingly. Then he returned Louis’ smile, loving the warmth of Louis’ smaller hand in his.

“Run.”


	25. Chapter 25

They slammed into the wall behind a conveniently placed stack of giant wooden crates piled so high that they hid all three of them completely, reaching way above their heads. Niall instantly slid to the floor, puffing and panting as he pressed his cheek against the cool linoleum trying to catch his breath – but Harry and Louis had no interest in such trivial things as  _breathing_ , not when they were both faced with such perfectly kissable lips and a few spare seconds in which to put them to good use. Within seconds Louis had Harry against the wall and was demanding kisses from his mouth, punctuating it with little growls every time Harry didn’t respond fiercely enough. Harry was only afraid of hurting Louis, fragile as he was; he had slammed Harry against the wall but Harry could easily have pushed him away because he was so hungry and weak and vulnerable.

“You need to eat,” Harry panted against Louis’ insistent lips. “I have food in my bag –”

Ignoring him, Louis nipped at the skin underneath his jaw, cutting Harry off and causing him to gasp a little, and then his mouth was on Harry’s again, stealing kiss after kiss. Eventually, Harry resignedly wound his fingers into Louis’ hair and gave in, collapsing into a mouth so soft and warm and loving that he felt he would quite like to completely vanish inside it. His tongue moved languidly inside Louis’ mouth, because he couldn’t muster the effort to be as insistent as he usually would have been.

“I need to eat  _you_ ,” whispered Louis, and Harry shuddered lightly as Louis stepped forwards and pressed his body closer to Harry’s, so that he was sandwiched between Louis and the wall. With a small cry, Harry arched into Louis’ body and clung to him as Louis ravaged his neck, giving him a series of love bites to be proud of.

“Time and a place, guys,” Niall reminded them, but neither of them were inclined to listen.

Louis’ hands sneaked down inside Harry’s jeans, and in return Harry’s found their way inside Louis’ shirt. Harry’s pupils dilated longingly and he abandoned all attempts at sensibility as he gave in to the sensations tugging at various different parts of his body – his neck where Louis kissed it so desperately, the pit of his abdomen where a familiar heat was building, his heart which was racing like a frenzied horse and threatening to punch its way out of his chest and splatter his blood all over Louis’ dirty shirt…he could feel Louis’ heart beating as well, where their chests were pressed together, and he felt like having a Twilight moment and pausing to sit with his ear pressed against Louis’ chest just to listen to it for a while. Instead, he nuzzled against Louis’ neck and felt his pulse thudding against his cheek instead, which was far less creepy and much more convenient for the activities they were engaging in. Still, it was nowhere near enough, because Harry wanted to rip Louis’ clothes off and have his way with him right there on the cold and shiny floor. It had been too long since they’d been so close, and he was young and active; suffice to say that he was more than ready for sex.

“Guys!” Niall begged, tugging helplessly on the back of Louis’ shirt to try and haul him off.

Under normal circumstances, they would have been impressed at how blatantly unruffled Niall was by the fact that two of his male best friends were frantically kissing each other in a base belonging to some kind of lawbreaking maniac, but they were somewhat distracted – so Louis just used Niall’s pulling as leverage to pull himself off Harry slightly before slamming himself forwards with twice as much enthusiasm as before.

“ _Guys_!” repeated Niall, banging his hands on Louis’ back.

He might as well have tried to lift a mountain as to try and get between Harry and Louis right then. They were basically grinding up against a wall with as much class as a pair of starving drug-addicted prostitutes, but they didn’t care much about that. It helped with the image, of course, that Louis looked quite so bedraggled.

“I love you,” Louis croaked against Harry’s hair as he layered kisses through every single section of explosive curls, not caring when those curls got into his mouth or up his nose.

“I want you,” breathed Harry, which wasn’t exactly the same thing, but the meaning was pretty similar. “I want all of you. I want you to put me on the floor and do things to me. I want  _you_.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Louis laughed breathlessly. “When you say ‘put you on the floor’, do you mean literally? Because there just so happens to be a conveniently placed floor right here, and I suggest we start sooner rather than later.”

“Oh,  _God_ , yes,” Harry moaned, and he hurled himself forwards, pushing himself so quickly off the wall that he forgot to be careful and forgot how much weaker Louis had gotten in the long weeks of their separation, so that rather than pushing Louis up against the crates like he had intended, he knocked him right over, and they fell backwards and Louis’ back slammed into the floor with a crack, all the breath whooshing out of him an instant.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis choked, “someone’s horny!” He gasped another laugh.

“Shut up and kiss me, you fool!” Harry took advantage of being on top to start paying Louis back for all of those love bites and attack his collarbones almost violently, biting hard enough to leave purple rings everywhere. He wasn’t used to being in control; it didn’t happen very often. He’d always thought of himself as the stronger one of the two, always assumed that he would be dominant, but from their very first night it had been very clear that Louis wasn’t going to let Harry have all the fun. Harry had to beg and bribe for hours if he wanted even a few minutes of being allowed to call the shots; Louis liked being on top, and it wasn’t a position he would relinquish gladly. They had their fortes, and being on top was the job that belonged to Louis. (Harry’s happened to be putting that perfect mouth to good use.)

“Harry,” Niall said calmly, “if you don’t get up right now, I’m going to do a re-enactment of that story told us about that extraction he did. I’m going to shoot a bullet right up your arse! And if they can stitch you back together after that, I don’t think your butthole will be in much shape for fucking, so perhaps you’d care to listen to me before I put your sex to an end before it’s even begun!” He jabbed Harry’s backside with the gun, softly enough to show that he was sort of joking, but hard enough to remind him that he could easily carry out the threat.

“Okay,” Harry said quickly, jerking backwards and grabbing Louis’ arms to pull him up with him, dragging them both to their feet.    

They started to head down the corridor, and Louis followed so closely behind Harry that every time Harry paused, even for so much as a split second, Louis bumped into him and almost knocked them both flying. It had happened for the fourth or fifth time when Harry turned round, not having lost patience but completely bewildered by Louis’ behaviour.

Catching Louis’ face in his hands, he asked softly “What is the  _matter_ with you, you wonderful idiot? Are you trying to knock me down?”

“Not close enough,” Louis murmured. “To you. It’s been too long…” With one hand he caressed Harry’s face in return; with the other he held Harry’s pale fingers in his own, and they were the same colour as Louis’ were; his golden tan had long since faded.

Shaking his head, Harry murmured, “Ever the romantic, Lou.” He accepted Louis’ hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “Come on, then. We’ll go together.” He didn’t mention that holding hands was one of the best ways he knew to slow yourself down.

“Excuse me,” interrupted Niall, “but do you two mind? We need to  _move_!”

“Three months.  _Three. Months,_ Niall,” Louis said harshly through his teeth, “does that mean nothing to you?”

“It means more to me than you realize! I never told you, did I, about why I understand so well how much it hurts to be away from someone you care about? You never asked. I’m with someone, you know. But at the same time, I’m not with him at all. It’s kind of a long-distance thing. We call each other, we write every now and then…we make it work. It’s not ideal, but you two know better than anyone that if you’re willing to commit to something,  _anything_  can work. You guys taught me that age, height, weight, occupation – all of that, none of it  _matters_! I wish I’d realized it sooner. But the thing is, it’s been weeks since I’ve seen him in person, and months since he last had the chance to kiss me goodbye, and if I’m quite honest, I’d prefer it if that kiss didn’t turn out to be our last. So could you two try and focus,  _please_?”

Burning with curiosity over Niall’s mystery lover, Louis shared a regretful glance with Harry. “I’m sorry. I’ll focus.”

“Right,” Harry said, “okay then. Louis, behind me, but not quite so close!” He shook his head and squeezed Louis’ hand. “Niall, watch out behind us, make sure nobody sneaks up on us. We’re all going to get out of here.”

“God, I  _love_ it when you go all authoritarian,” Louis whispered as Harry started tugging him swiftly down the corridor.

“If being ordered around turns you on, darling, for you I’ll be a bloody  _dominatrix_ ,” promised Harry dryly, “but shall we get out of here, first? We have things which must be done. Niall, I am determined to meet this mystery guy of yours. I love a man of mystery; it makes him sound far sexier when you know nothing about him.”

Niall grinned. “You’ve met him already. It’s –”

“There they are!”

All three of their heads snapped up as they spotted a little gathering of three people at the end of the corridor; two strangers with shaved heads, the typical thug stereotypes, and the third was Delilah, the beautiful woman who had been ready to shoot Niall in the head at Derek’s first command. There was a moment of shock while all six of them stared incredulously at each other – and then Delilah’s wrist flicked up and she aimed her gun straight in between Louis’ frightened eyes. The eyes of the only defenceless person in the area. To all intents and purposes, they were outnumbered, and Harry didn’t like the odds – especially as the person who was being targeted was Louis;  _Louis,_  whom he had fought so hard to save! Harry felt himself pale.

“Shit!” Niall said, “run!”

They turned around, and run was what they did. Niall set the kind of pace that an Olympic sprinter would have been satisfied with, vanishing around the corner almost instantly without looking back. Louis hesitated for a few painful seconds until Harry planted his hands on his back, wrenching their fingers apart and giving him a violent shove.

“ _Run_!” he reminded him desperately.

Louis ran. He wasn’t going to ignore Harry when his tone was quite as panicky as that. Rushing after Niall, he left Harry alone, standing with three guns pointed squarely at him ready to shoot. He was determined to beat them to it. If one of them shot, he would shoot too; if he had his way, his trigger would be squeezed first.

“Would you shoot me?” Delilah asked, although to Harry she was just a nameless woman who was ready to shoot him. He didn’t know about her children or her fear. All he knew was that she would shoot Louis without a second’s thinking time, and therefore he would shoot  _her_ without a second’s thinking time.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m a woman,” she pointed out calmly, her gun unwavering; “shooting me is supposed to make a difference. If you shot one of these lovely boys, your conscience would be clear. If you shot me… you would feel bad about it. Is that not so?”

“It isn’t so. Your being a woman makes no difference to me. The bullet won’t treat you any differently, and neither will I.” Harry unflinchingly trained his gun on the centre of her collarbone.

“Harry!”

The only thing that could have stopped Harry right then was Louis’ voice, so it was probably a good thing that Louis chose that particular moment to cry out. Otherwise, Delilah would have been dead before she hit the floor. Harry was good at desensitizing himself when he had to; he could disconnect his emotions in a heartbeat, and he would have felt no remorse, at least not until hours after he’d killed her. Swearing, Harry shot, a bullet which intentionally zipped past her shoulder and headed for the wall behind her, and then he wrenched around and hared off after Louis.

He was running so fast that he almost overtook Louis; he was halfway past him before he realized what he had done. Luckily, Louis snagged his wrist and yanked him back before he could run too far past him.

“Who did you shoot?” he asked helplessly.

“No one,” promised Harry, “I shot it past that girl’s head, now come  _on_!”

He grabbed Louis’ hand and they set off again, and Harry felt glad that Louis was so light now because at least he wasn’t holding him back or weighing him down. They ran so fast that catching up to Niall was almost easy, and then they started running again, trying to find some kind of exit.

“Where’s the door?” Niall demanded breathlessly. “The door we came in by, where is it?”

“If I knew that, we’d already be through it, trust me,” Harry said darkly, checking behind him again to make sure that nobody was sneaking up on them. “We have to retrace our steps; find out where we came in…”

“Come on,” Louis suggested, starting to tug Harry down the corridor, “let’s go this – oh!”

He stopped dead, because directly in front of them, a door had just opened; a door painted white and designed to blend in almost perfectly with the wall so that they hadn’t seen it until it had flown open, and someone had stepped out of it: someone of average height and build but from the looks of it far lower than average intelligence; someone who was holding a milkshake in one hand and a chocolate doughnut in the other, whose gun was tucked lazily into the back pocket of their jeans where it would be stupidly difficult to reach, and whose mouth fell open in shock when he spotted the three of them staring at him. Instantly, Harry’s gun swept up and was aimed at the man, and Niall’s instantly followed, not even shaking now. The man gaped at them in absolute horror. Harry was icily calm.

“Now,” he said, “isn’t this convenient? Niall, if you don’t mind…”

Niall stepped forwards and easily slid the gun out of the shocked man’s pocket, then handed it carefully to Louis, flicking the safety on first. Louis grimly accepted it and then he too aimed it on the quivering man, trying to look like he knew what he was doing.

“Right,” continued Harry cheerfully, making eye contact with the man, who was visibly shaking, “now, how’s this for a good deal: you point us in the general direction of the exit, and we don’t shoot you. How does that sound?”

Silently, the man pointed with his milkshake carton in the direction they had been headed in, heavily scrutinized by Louis, who squinted at him thoughtfully with furrows deepening his forehead.

“Your cooperation has been muchly appreciated,” Harry told him brightly, and then he planted his free hand on the man’s chest and shoved. Startled, the man squealed and tumbled backwards into the room he had just exited, and Harry slammed the door on him decisively.

“Excellent,” Niall said, and started heading the way the man had indicated.

“Hold on,” interrupted Harry, putting out a hand to stop him. “Louis?”

“That way,” Louis corrected, pointing in the opposite direction.

Niall was confused. “But he said –”

“I’m a psychologist, Niall. I know when people are lying. He was sweating. He was shaking. His pupils had dilated.”

“We were pointing guns at him!”

“Yeah, and in the split second before he answered our question, his eyes flickered in the opposite direction. Bit of a big giveaway, if you ask me, but he wasn’t to know that, was he?” Louis told him. “It’s that way. I’m one hundred per cent certain.”

“Good,” Harry said, and without further ado, they started heading the way Louis wanted to go, although Niall wasn’t certain.

They had just turned around a corner which they had missed before, when they found what they were looking for; halfway down the corridor they were suddenly faced with, they could clearly see the door that Harry and Niall had forced their way in through. However, as was becoming increasingly frequent, they were not alone. There was a man standing at the end of the corridor, staring at them, and as they all gazed at him, aghast, he raised a gun. Like all the others had.

“This is bloody ridiculous, man!” Niall complained, backing up a little.

“Louis,” Harry said, “get behind me.”

“No chance,” Louis said bravely, shifting against Harry so that his body was pressed against Harry’s hip.

Irritated, Harry shook his head, but he didn’t argue. Without moving his lips more than was necessary, he murmured, “Niall, when I give the signal, I want you to shoot, okay? I don’t care if you hit him, but if you can possibly avoid it, not having a dead body on our hands might be nice. We just need a distraction.”

Niall steeled himself. “Right.”

Before any of them could react, Harry himself shot, and Niall knew that he had to copy, but the sound of the gunshot exploding through the corridor made him flinch so badly that he jerked the gun upwards at the last minute, and his shot went wildly off target, even more so than usual. Only by some ridiculous stroke of luck, his bullet hit the lightbulb dangling from the ceiling, which, without windows, was the only light source in the room. Sparks exploded everywhere like fireworks, the room was plunged into darkness, and Harry had only a split second to memorize the layout of the corridor before everything went black. He grabbed Louis’ hand. On the other side of the room, he heard the other man curse at being temporarily blinded, and knew that they had a chance; a chance to escape before all of their eyes adjusted and the man started shooting. So Harry hoped for the best, and he made a runner for it, yanking Louis with him. Thankfully, Niall had grabbed hold of Louis when the lights went out, and like some kind of human chain, they ran helplessly towards where the door had been.

Harry’s shaking hands found the door-handle first, and he fumbled desperately with it, praying that it wouldn’t be locked, because even Niall couldn’t pick a lock in pitch blackness, and they wouldn’t have another chance to get away –

He squeezed Louis’ wrist ridiculously tightly just in case it was wrenched away from him, and Louis’ short, pained gasp was stupidly reassuring, because at least he was still there, and Harry was hurting him but he didn’t really care –

The door flew open and they all stumbled forwards in shock, tasting cool air and feeling it on their faces as the wind played with their hair. Whirling around, Harry slammed the door shut and dragged the bolts home, hoping to lock them all in even though he knew that wasn’t happening. Then he seized Louis and started hauling him towards where they had parked the car. His head was spinning; he thought he might be sick.

They ducked under the same gap in the fence that he and Niall had entered through, and Harry’s heart was banging as they lurched towards the car. Would they make it? Could they? Would someone shoot them before they got there?

The answer was no.

All three of them piled into the car, Louis and Harry in the front, Niall throwing himself onto the back seat, and Harry’s trembling hands struggled to insert the key into the ignition, and he was shaking so hard that he wasn’t sure he could drive in a straight line, and his vision was blurred with relieved tears –

The engine roared, and with a crunch of gravel but no clichéd shriek of brakes or smell of burning rubber, they were driving away, and Harry’s arm was around Louis’ shoulders and he was crying as he wrenched the car around another corner and felt Louis’ icy fingers gripping his arm so tightly that he thought he would have to rip his own arm off to get Louis to let go.

Suffice to say he had no intention of trying.


	26. Chapter 26

“So then you say that the man in question – Mr. Styles, could you stop doing that for just a few seconds,  _please_?”

Harry looked up from where he had been affectionately nuzzling Louis’ neck, paused and stared at the police officer like the man had lost his mind. Louis was all but sat in Harry’s lap; they were so close that they almost looked like the same person. Louis was leaning back against Harry while Harry rubbed his cheek against Louis’ shoulder and nibbled his jugular every now and then, and understandably it was more than a little hard to concentrate with  _that_  going on.

“I don’t think so,” Harry said, so simply that it didn’t even sound rude. He truly didn’t believe he could stop.

Shaking his head wearily, the police officer made an obvious effort to ignore Harry’s relentless assault of cuddling and went back to his notebook. “All right, never mind. You claim, Mr. Tomlinson, that the man took one look at you and then aimed a gun straight at you, is that so?”

“I, ah…” Louis knew that mere seconds ago he’d had an answer to that question, but he was struggling to remember it with Harry breathing seductively down his neck, causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end. “He…uh…” All of a sudden, he’d turned into Harry; his voice was slow and faltered at every other word.

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

Harry was the devil. He nibbled carefully on the sensitive skin underneath Louis’ jaw, chuckling at the way Louis’ breath caught in his throat and all coherent thoughts exited his brain like they’d never been there in the first place. Biting down hard on his lip, Louis wriggled in Harry’s embrace and tried not to show how desperately he wanted to throw the policemen out and just fall straight to the floor and tangle his and Harry’s bodies together until they were almost the same person.

“I – oh! Sorry, what?”

“Perhaps, if it isn’t too much trouble, you could focus on the matter in hand, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Um…” Louis breathed, and his fingers found purchase in Harry’s hair and stayed there, gripping tightly, as Harry bit down on his neck and refused to let go, determined to mark him, to leave a deep, aching reminder that Louis was his, something that would hurt a little when Louis touched it and would take weeks to heal – and there would be plenty more to accompany it by then.

“Oh!” Snapping his notebook shut, the older policeman shook his head. “I give up. We’ll get nothing out of the two of you today. Go! Go and do what you have to do; we’ll call again in the morning and sort things out.” The two men stood up ready to leave.

“Thank you,” Louis managed to force out. He tried to get to his feet and show the men out, but the older man waved him away.

“It’s all right, we’ll see ourselves out,” he said dryly. “You two have things to be getting on with, I think.”

The moment the door had clicked shut, Louis found himself in Harry’s arms – properly in his arms, being carried like he was some kind of enormous baby. Harry’s lips found their way onto his and he kissed Louis almost feverishly for a moment or so, their mouths moving carefully together as Harry once again familiarized himself with everything he’d lost.

“I love you,” he whispered the moment he could bear to break the kiss.

Louis’ only answer was a moan as he pulled Harry’s head back down so they could kiss again. Without pulling away, Harry lifted Louis off the sofa and struggled through the doorway to the bedroom, carrying him over the threshold, and then he laid him carefully down on the bed and threw himself down on top of him, relentlessly layering kisses down his cheeks and neck. His hands shook as he fought to drag Louis’ shirt over his head, but before too long it was on the floor, and he was caressing every inch of the recently showered body that lay beneath him. Louis had showered and changed his clothes, but he might as well not have bothered putting them on, because before all too long his shirt, trousers and boxers were all on the floor, and Harry’s were halfway there. Louis gave a helpless little cry against Harry’s shoulder as Harry gave him his weight, and his hands were sure of themselves as he traced delicate, careful lines down Louis’ ribs, which were far too visible for his liking.

Louis moaned a little and closed his eyes, groping blindly for the chest of drawers beside the bed, but Harry beat him to it. The sound of a packet being torn punctuated the air, and Louis opened his eyes again to look longingly but wearily at the thing that Harry now held in his hand. Harry’s eyes were wide and his breaths shaky; he trembled ever so slightly and Louis grabbed his hips and held on tightly, looking up at where Harry was sitting on top of him. His fingers began tugging at the zip on Harry’s trousers and the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing, the atmosphere thick and tingling with anticipation for what was to come.

“Roll over?” Louis murmured, catching Harry’s wrists before his Chinos were even halfway down his legs. Still perched on top of him, Harry looked down, in control for once.

“Not on your life,” Harry said solemnly, “it’s my turn. I never get to do this; you never let me. You’ve been through enough. You treat me far better than I deserve. Please, Lou. I want to do this…for you.”

With a groan, Louis shook his head resignedly and allowed himself to be pushed back against the pillows, and then Harry was kicking off his boxers and leaving them on the floor, like he always did. He allowed himself a few perfect moments to cherish this, to accept the fact that Louis really was lying underneath him, capturing Louis’ lips between his a couple of times and nipping hungrily at his neck, making Louis cry out. And then he was delving back into their drawer and coating his fingers, and probing lightly against Louis’ skin, careful not to hurt him, achingly gentle. The motion was unfamiliar after so long, especially as he wasn’t very used to it anyway, and every movement, every tiny flex of his long fingers, was hesitant, but before all too long Louis was all but crying with longing, grabbing the duvet with both hands just to have something to hang on to, pushing himself against Harry’s hand. That was when Harry took his fingers away and replaced them with another, more sensitive part of him, and then he made love to Louis and lost himself for a while, in a dizzying rush of sensation and grasping hands, fingers tangling in hair and the thrust of his hips over and over, and the sound of his and Louis’ cries mingling together until he wasn’t sure whose voice was whose. And in all the rush he had forgotten to be careful and both the wrapper and its contents had fallen to the floor, but he didn’t care about that. He had never been so close to Louis before, with no latex between their skin, and he didn’t think he’d ever go back to doing it the other way, didn’t think he’d ever be happy having a plastic layer separating them ever again, when this was so much more intimate and wonderful. At some point he started crying, sobbing against Louis’ neck as his emotions peaked to a happiness and delirium so high that it was almost painful, and then faded away. It had hurt him; it had hurt them both, because they were unaccustomed to their roles and Louis was too tight and Harry was clumsy no matter how careful he had been, but it was the kind of pain Louis would take a thousand times over just for the pleasure that came with it.

Harry came back to himself with a sheen of sweat all over his body, his hair limp and hanging in his eyes while he shook all over and felt Louis trembling underneath him, and he slowly kissed Louis all over his shoulders and his neck and his sharp collarbones, languidly cuddling up to him because he was more exhausted now than anything else. Louis had his eyes closed and might have been asleep if his hands hadn’t still been stroking rhythmically down Harry’s spine, dipping down his back and making his breath catch as he felt Louis’ fingers swooping up and down the lines of his body.

“I love you,” Louis told him, and he felt another rush of pleasure heading down through his abdomen as he said it, as if that declaration was another kind of stimuli.

“I love you too,” was Harry’s answer, and then they rolled over so that Louis was on top, and he pressed his whole body against Harry’s and pinned him to the mattress with a little smile, nuzzling his neck with his nose. Harry caressed Louis’ face, holding his cheek in the palm of his hand.

“Seeing as we appear to be doing some kind of role reversal tonight…how about I pretend to be you for a little while?” Louis offered suggestively, and he tugged Harry’s free hand towards him (the hand which had been in Louis’ hair and not inside of him, he was certain to check) and pulled his fingers into his mouth to illustrate his point.

Harry blushed hotly, because he’d always secretly wondered what that particular sensation felt like and Louis had never offered it before, but he was certainly not going to pass up on an opportunity like that just because he had been taken by surprise, and with his face lit up, he kissed Louis quickly in response and then went to sit on the edge of the bed. Louis crouched on the floor beside him, looking oddly fragile with all of his bones so emaciated.

“You’ll tell me what to do, right? You are the expert, after all.” He grinned.

Harry squeezed his hand. “Oh, I’ll tell you.”

Then Louis’ hair was tickling his inner thighs and he was struggling to sit upright, and he seriously hoped that the neighbours were listening to music or watching TV at a ridiculously loud volume because his cries became a little uncontrollable after that.

 *  *  *  *  *  *

“Morning.”

“Mmmmm…” Harry groaned, not wanting to open his eyes just yet. He’d been in the middle of such a beautiful dream, it seemed a shame to let it go, even though it would only hurt him to cling on to it. It had involved he and Louis, and several rather intimate and racy situations, and even though it had left him sore and achy, and his limbs hurt, he had no desire to leave that world behind quite yet. The world of fuzzy heads and heavy body parts was a beautiful world indeed. But he knew that he’d resurface fully in a miserably short time, and Kylie would be yelling at him to get his gun out and show the other recruits how it was done, and he’d dutifully obey every order put to him no matter how much he wanted to plunge back underneath his duvet and hide.

Cool fingers were suddenly on his stomach and touching the delicate V that plunged down his abdomen, and Harry yelped and snatched at that small and invasive hand with the fingers that were lost so easily in his own. Who was touching him? Kylie wouldn’t dare, and his hands were too big and calloused anyway –

His eyes snapped open, and he found Louis staring down at him with an amused smile on his face.

“Perhaps I ought to say ‘afternoon’?” he suggested, “bearing in mind that it’s past twelve now. I was going to invite you to breakfast, but we seem to have missed it. Therefore, I must ask; would you care to have lunch, Mr. Styles?”

“Louis,” Harry said, stunned – and then he remembered. “Louis!” He grabbed him and kissed him fiercely, just to make sure – and there Louis was, warm underneath him, with a slight trace of fuzzy stubble on the underside of his jaw, his mouth just as beautifully sculpted as Harry had remembered, as responsive as he could have dreamed…

“Hey, sleepy. I’d forgotten how enthusiastic you were,” teased Louis, “I won’t be able to walk straight for a week. Oh well. I’d take the exchange any day.”

“Mmm, I bet you would.” Harry shook his head fondly. “Having you back here with me…it’s more than I could have dreamed of. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” promised Louis, grabbing his hand. “Now come on, let’s take a stroll into the kitchen. I could murder a sandwich.”

Laughing, Harry allowed Louis to haul him out of bed and into the kitchen. Sandwiches were made, and eaten, and then Louis wandered across to the the phone and rang his mother to reassure her that he was fine (oddly enough, he spared her the tale of how he narrowly missed getting shot), while cradling Harry’s head in his lap and stroking his hair. They sat on the sofa for a while once Louis had put the phone down, just talking. Harry held onto Louis like a limpet, refusing to let him go, and Louis wasn’t complaining.

Still, it was when Louis went to get a shower to wash off the evidence from their bedroom activities the night before, and Harry came with him, that caused Louis to get a little bit worried. Harry showering with him wasn’t so much of a concern; they’d done that before often enough – it was more the way that from the moment they stepped into the shower and linked fingers, Harry wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t even released Louis’ hand when Louis reached for the shampoo; instead he reached awkwardly across himself with his free hand to pass the bottle to him. He kissed him while the water poured down over their shoulders and leaving them sopping wet, and he was reluctant to let go even while they towelled themselves dry. That worried Louis, because Harry had never been so clingy before.

He didn’t decide to mention it until he realized how bad it was; while Harry was on the phone to Niall thanking him for all his help. Louis eased out from his place beside Harry on the sofa, and went to go and make himself a cup of tea – and when Harry went to pat Louis on the thigh and realized that Louis was no longer there, he choked on his next breath. Dropping the phone so that it hit the floor and almost broke, he leapt to his feet and cried “ _Louis_!” with such anguish that Louis thought he’d been attacked. Sprinting back into the living room, Louis found Harry standing frozen beside the sofa, arms wrapped around his own torso, gasping for breath with wide eyes.

Instantly, Louis rushed across the room and threw one arm around Harry’s waist, yanking him closely against his side while he dipped down and scooped up the phone with his free hand. Making an excuse to Niall, he hung up, then tossed the phone onto the sofa and turned to face Harry. He pressed his forehead against Harry’s and looked straight into his eyes, meeting his gaze. Flushing Harry looked away, but Louis could feel him trembling beside him.

“Harry, what’s the matter?” he whispered.

Uncomfortably squirming in Louis’ grip with those cool hands holding his face, Harry refused to make eye contact, reddening with embarrassment.

“Harry,” Louis said sternly, “tell me what’s wrong.”

“I thought you were gone!” Harry cried wretchedly, “I thought they’d taken you away again!” And he wrenched himself away from Louis, turning his back on him, and miserably buried his face in his hands.

Reaching out, Louis touched Harry’s back hesitantly. “Harry?”

“I thought they’d taken you again,” Harry whispered, and he wouldn’t turn around.

“Why? Harry, the door’s locked! How could they have possibly taken me away?” Louis asked softly.

“They did it before,” Harry pointed out miserably. “I can’t lose you again, Louis. I can’t cope. Every time I turn my back it feels like they’re going to snatch you out from underneath my nose! I can’t stand it.”

“I’m here,” Louis soothed, rubbing his hands up and down Harry’s back. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ignoring him, Harry continued “It’s  _this house_. They know where we are. I feel like they’re hiding around every corner ready to take you away from me!” His voice rose almost hysterically. “I can’t let them do it, Louis!”

“Okay. Okay, shhhhh,” pleaded Louis, “don’t get upset. Come on.” He kissed him quickly. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore, Louis,” Harry said helplessly, collapsing against him and pressing his cheek to Louis’ chest. “I don’t feel safe in this house any more. I want to move away to somewhere where nobody knows us. We can start again, you and me. I just want to get a little house somewhere, some little place we can call our own. Where no one knows I’m a murderer, where you’ll just be the local psychiatrist and I’ll just be your boyfriend. Louis and Harry. I want to walk down the street without people glaring and hiding their kids because I’m wearing a Community Service vest. I want to be able to sit on a park bench somewhere with you and put my arm around you and know that no one’s going to stare at us. And then I want to go home and know that nobody knows where we are. I want us to be able to make love without that old bat from the floor below banging on the ceiling with her broom to tell us to keep it down! And I know I don’t have any right to ask for all this. But I want it anyway.”

“You know what? That sounds perfect.” Louis paused. “I have some money saved up; my salary’s pretty good…if we could find ourselves a little place, would you want to come with me? I can’t promise that it’d be a nice place, or in a good area, but I can try.”

Wide-eyed, Harry stared at him. “You mean it? You’re not just saying that to shut me up?”

“What do you take me for? I’m not a liar. I absolutely mean it.” Touching Harry’s face, Louis promised, “I’ll find us somewhere, Harry. But you know, if we’re going to be leaving, there’s something we need to fix first.”

Harry frowned. “What’s that?”

Leaning in closely, Louis murmured into his ear “You wouldn’t want to cheat our friends out of giving us a proper send-off, would you? We started this thing with a party; lets end it with one.”

 *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Louis was very cunning in organizing that particular party for the exact day before they left; it meant that none of their possessions could get broken as they were already packed, and they wouldn’t have to clean up the next morning because they would already be gone. He’d borrowed someone’s ipod again and everyone else had paid for the alcohol, seeing as buying their little cottage in Brighton had pretty much cleared out both of their bank accounts. Louis was still going to be working at the prison until he found himself a job more locally to where their new home was, and he’d increased his hours and therefore his salary, but they were still struggling a little bit money-wise.

Luckily, an advantage of being friends with a criminal gang was that they were very good at getting hold of low-price alcohol (Harry and Louis conveniently ‘forgot’ to ask where they’d got it from) and although cramming so many people into their flat was a struggle, it still worked. So there they all were, dancing stupidly and chatting and swapping stories, especially Niall, who was flashing his new braces at anyone who would look, and proudly telling the story of how he’d ripped his old ones off to pick a lock with. Harry was still having a few possessiveness issues, keeping an arm thrown around Louis’ shoulders at all times, but otherwise he was happier than he’d been for ages. They had finally had a chance to meet Danielle, who Liam was adorably proud of, and they all loved her, as Louis had thought that they would. Still, for the moment, Liam himself was strangely absent, and Danielle refused to tell them where he was, even though they could tell from her face that she knew.

The evening progressed, people got drunk, and neither Harry nor Louis really cared how badly wrecked the flat would be when it was all over. It wasn’t their responsibility any more.

Harry and Louis were stood in the main hall with Niall, chatting and swapping stories, when they were alerted to a knock on  the door that instantly caused them to panic, highly-strung as the three of them were. Instantly, Harry swept Louis behind him and made a grab for the ugly vase on the table, brandishing it like a deadly weapon, while Niall borrowed someone’s umbrella and started waving it dangerously around. Harry leaned forward and snatched the door open, and he and Niall raised their respective weapons menacingly.

Niall’s umbrella fell to the floor. Liam was stood grinning on the threshold, with his hand on another man’s shoulder. The guy would have been good looking effortlessly, but he had chosen to put an effort in anyway; the effect was devastating. He was wearing a varsity jacket and his black hair was up in a quiff, and he was grinning shyly, looking down at the Supras on his feet. Quickly looking up, his brown eyes met Niall’s blue ones.

“Hey, Niall,” he said.

“Zayn!” cried Niall, and he hurled himself past Harry and Louis and straight into Zayn’s arms, allowing Zayn to snatch him up and whirl him around in a very restricted circle, bearing in mind that there wasn’t that much space to move. Liam backed away into the corridor, and Louis caught at Harry’s waist and gently dragged him backwards to give Niall and Zayn a little more room. Louis couldn’t help but smile and kiss Harry’s neck as he watched Zayn and Niall embrace, and Niall burying his face in Zayn’s neck and clinging to him – and laughing, because that was just what Niall did. Laughing was his thing.

“You have  _no_ idea how glad I am to see your face again. You stopped coming to visit me, you twat!” Zayn said, biffing Niall playfully on the arm before catching him in a headlock and lovingly ruffling his hair. “You weren’t writing proper letters, either. I was worried I’d upset you! You had me properly worried.”

“Nah, not me. I’m tough. I had a lot of stuff going on. All down to these nutters; blame them.” He cast his arm outwards and indicated Harry and Louis standing happily behind him, Harry cradled against Louis, and both of them grinning. “Harry roped me in to his loopy ‘let’s-rescue-Louis scheme, and I was powerless to resist his dimples.” Niall laughed and tilted his head, and Zayn leant down and kissed him on the nose.

“I hope you haven’t been seducing my man, Styles,” he said amusedly, “that’s my job.”

Harry shrugged. “Nah, I’ve got my own man right here. Seducing him takes all my time; it’s a full-time job.” He squeezed Louis’ leg. “Anyway, Niall will be safe from my charms soon enough. Brighton, here we come!”

“We’ll come and visit you,” Liam promised. “Heaps. You’ll get sick of us.”

“Sick of you idiots?” Louis asked fondly. He and Harry rushed forwards and dragged Liam towards them, and then all five of them fell into a massive and clumsy group hug, arms around each other as they all hugged violently. “Never.”


End file.
